


tell me i should stay

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, allie as a tennis instructor, another random and niche au by moi, harry as a single dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: As she’s brushing her teeth, she gets another email from Harry Bingham. He’s sent her back the intake form and said he hopes she decides to work with Sloan, and to be in touch if she has any other questions or needs more information from him.She marks the email unread so she can deal with it tomorrow. But she likes the name Sloan, and she likes how seriously he’s taking this. If he’ll agree to do Tuesdays and Saturdays, she’ll definitely teach this kid.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 103





	tell me i should stay

As soon as the snow melts, she starts getting calls again. It isn’t surprising; it happens this way every year. Now, she says no more often than she says yes. It helps that she’s got enough freelance photography work to keep her busy in the city and she doesn’t _need_ the money in the same way she used to. She has a ballpark number of how many lessons she needs to teach per week to pad her bank account and add to her savings and her travel fund. And it’s a way to keep active. And at this point, she doesn’t know what her springs and summers would feel like if she didn’t have tennis in her life in some way. 

She’s a better teacher than she ever was a player, and her name is known around the city and outside of it. The rich folks she knew through country clubs in Connecticut have put her in touch with rich folks in New York and the Hamptons; she’s never really had to advertise. It’s a blessing. And also when, two summers ago, one of her clients told her she was charging too little and started paying her more, well… She can take on two students, teach twice per week, and more than cover her rent in just a few hours a week. There are worse things to do than pull her gear out of her tiny closet every spring and head to whatever fancy address she’s given. 

She’s walking home from Whole Foods with her reusable bag slung over her shoulder and some fresh lilies in her hand because they’re pretty and she’s impulsive. Her phone starts ringing, which is annoying because she loves the song playing in her ear. It’s an unknown number, and she always answers those, because it could be work. Her real work. 

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Allie Pressman?”

Right. She should get back into the habit of answering professionally, or whatever. 

“Speaking.” 

“My name’s Harry. I got your number from Helena Wu.” She doesn’t say anything, because he hasn’t asked a question. And she and Helena go way back. They played juniors together, and Allie still considers Helena a close friend, even if the girl now just plays casually, isn’t the best teacher, and is instead focused on a law degree from Yale. “I was wondering if you had time in your schedule for new students?”

She does, actually, because like, it’s just barely warm enough to wear a lighter jacket and no mittens. The guy’s a bit keen, but Allie doesn’t really mind. So far she’s got one student - this kid Simon who she taught last year and likes - and she’s said no to three others because they were too far away. God, one family offered her room and board in their Hamptons house to teach their eight year old for the summer. As if Allie doesn’t have her own life. As if they’re the only family who desires her expertise. 

“I’m taking on students, yeah,” she says, and wishes she were at home and not walking down a busy sidewalk. “Beginner, intermediate, or advanced? And what age?”

“She’s five, and I’m pretty sure she’s only ever touched a tennis ball playing fetch with the neighbour’s dog.” She can almost hear a smile in his voice, and it makes her laugh. “So, beginner.”

Allie never knows how to ask this next question delicately, but she finds it necessary. After teaching way too many snotty little kids who had no interest whatsoever in tennis, she doesn’t want to waste her time or anyone’s money. 

“Does she want to play? I mean, is this her idea, or yours?”

“Hers,” he says, laughing gently. “She’s practically begging. All she wants to do is watch Serena compilations on YouTube.” Okay, cute, and _same_. “We’re in Greenwich. I don’t know if that impacts your decision.” 

Actually, this could work out perfectly. Her other student is in that area, too. If she could do both lessons on the same days, it’d be a huge time saver and way easier to schedule the rest of her life around. 

“I can email you my credentials and intake info,” she says, because yeah, she got some advice from one of her own teachers that she should be a little bit more discerning, especially for the amount she’s charging. “If we both decide it sounds like a good fit, I can send you my background check and direct deposit information.”

There’s a pause. “Right to the point. I like that.”

He’s got a nice voice. 

She gets to her building, fiddles with her keys because they always jam in the door, and then gives him her email address so he can follow up. She learned early on that sometimes this vetting process is more work than the actual lessons, and she used to always email people first, spend all this time on things and then never hear anything back. She’s learned that if she leaves things in someone else’s hands and they don’t write her, that’s totally fine. Also, she’s not hustling for clients the way she used to. 

She’s making herself a cup of tea after dinner and settling into another evening of watching Mad Men when her phone chimes. It’s the guy she spoke to earlier following up. His email is well-written, but brief, and he’s asking her to send him any additional info she wants to share, and he’s shared more about his kid. And because she’s a professional, and like, artistic, or whatever (god, she hates calling herself an artist, even though most people would say she’s one) she has her own website, just this sort of plain, well-designed page with some photos of her, her records, information on her teaching style. There are also a few testimonials from past clients, and info on some of her past students who have gone on to play well at the junior level. 

She’s good at what she does, okay? Does she eventually want to make enough year round as a photographer that she doesn’t have to take on weddings in the winter and tennis lessons in the warmer months? Absolutely. But for now, she enjoys all these things enough that it doesn’t feel like an inconvenience. God, sometimes she thinks she could be a full time tennis instructor and photography could just be a hobby. But that’s not what she wants to do for the rest of her life. 

As she’s brushing her teeth, she gets another email from Harry Bingham. He’s sent her back the intake form and said he hopes she decides to work with Sloan, and to be in touch if she has any other questions or needs more information from him. 

She marks the email unread so she can deal with it tomorrow. But she likes the name Sloan, and she likes how seriously he’s taking this. If he’ll agree to do Tuesdays and Saturdays, she’ll definitely teach this kid. 

… … …

Harry offers to send a car to pick Allie up because he knows she lives in the city and yeah, it’s not far - he does the drive enough, himself - but she didn’t mention having a car. She texts back and says she does carshare, has another lesson before Sloan’s, but appreciates the offer. He tells her to at least send him the bill for the carshare, or to tell him how much it is so he can reimburse her. She replies that he doesn’t have to do that, that she’s not just driving in solely for his kid. But yeah, he’s definitely gonna do it anyway. And if she doesn’t tell him how much, he’ll make a guess and add it to what he transfers her weekly, which is what they agreed upon for a payment schedule. 

His house has a gate because it was there when he bought it. So was the tennis court and the pool and the ‘pool house’ that’s bigger than even the loft he had in Boston when he was in school. His mom said something about it being a nanny suite, or something - though the house has one of those, too - but he doesn’t have a live-in nanny and doesn’t want one. He’s got someone who’s here after school when he’s working and goes home at 6:00 every day. If he has to continue working, he can do it after his kid’s in bed. She’ll be on full time for the summer; Becca’s getting her master’s in early childhood education. She’s a friend of his from high school and she has a kid a few years older than Sloan. Her schedule works with his and he doesn’t mind that she brings Eden with her. It works out really well for both of them. He’s dreading the day she’s finished school and working full time, but that’s selfish. 

Look, he’s got his priorities sorted. When he found out he and Kelly were having a baby, he was fucking terrified he’d be a shit parent like his parents were, and decided to do everything he could to make sure he wasn’t. Then, when they split, he made her promise him they wouldn’t make this miserable for their daughter. What that means is their situation is weird and completely atypical, but he doesn’t really care at all. Their kid is happy. 

Sloan’s at the counter next to him, eating a banana and some unsalted pretzels as a snack. He’s got his laptop open, sending off a couple emails as she chatters away about her lesson and how excited she is. Which is the same thing he’s heard for two weeks since he told her he’d found her a teacher. When his phone buzzes with a notification from the gate, he swipes up to see the camera, and there’s a little silver Nissan waiting to be let in. He makes a note to just give her her own code so she can let herself in. Sloan’s finishing up, saying she has to pee, so he tells her to go to the washroom and reminds her to make sure she washes her hands with soap before coming to meet her teacher. 

When he answers the door after the bell rings, he tries to stop himself from thinking his first thought, which is that Allie is _hot_. He’s seen pictures, but the real deal is different. Like, she’s not even just pretty, though she certainly is that, too. She’s wearing all white, this little pleated skirt and a long sleeved top, her hair pulled back off her face, but curling little fly aways around her hairline. It’s not super warm yet, but sunny enough in the middle of the day that it’s kind of appropriate weather to start a full season’s worth of lessons. 

She smiles at him, sets her tennis bag down at her feet. 

“Hey. Is your dad around? I’m here for Sloan’s tennis lesson?”

Harry can’t help smirking. He leans against the door, his hand up by his head, and wonders how embarrassed she’ll be when she realizes her mistake. 

“My dad?” he asks, because he’s just a bit of an asshole and it’ll be at least a little fun to watch her squirm. 

“Harry Bingham,” she says, and seems like, annoyed, or something. Like, she knows she’s not at the wrong house, because she was let through the gate. And he assumes, given how thoroughly she vets her clients and how thoroughly she suggests they vet her, that she’s not even entertaining the thought that she’s mixed up the address, or something.

Sloan chooses that exact moment to push past his legs and stand in front of him, looking up at Allie, then at him. 

“Daddy, this is Allie?” 

Allie’s face turns pink, and she stutters out, “Da…You’re…” and she stops herself from calling him _daddy_ , which...Yes. Good. “I’m so sorry. I assumed you were older.”

He just raises a brow at her quickly, smiles. He realizes he hasn’t introduced himself, which is kind of rude and unlike him, even if he is just trying to play some game with a pretty girl. 

“Harry. This is Sloan,” he says, and rests his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He reaches his other hand out to shake Allie’s, and she does so, then runs her index finger over the tip of her ear. He thinks she’s nervous. “I’ll show you to the court?”

Allie just nods, and Sloan pushes ahead of him to lead the way. She’s cute when she’s all excited like this, but he’s also glad she’ll have a way to work out some of this extra energy. Not that he minds that he’s got all this time with her or that she lives with him full time, but she’s always been a little hellion in the best way, and now that she’s old enough to maybe channel that into a sport, he thinks it’ll be good for her. And him. And Kelly. 

“I’m really sorry,” Allie says again, and Harry waves his hand. He wishes he’d grabbed his coffee before this walk; he figures he should stick around for the first lesson. That’s what people do, right? “So embarrassing.”

“It’s all good,” he tells her, then smiles over at her and she flexes her hand on the strap of her bag. “Not the first time, honestly.” 

She laughs a little, looks around, the tennis court in front of them, the four car garage to their left, the house to the right. 

“I mean, all this is yours?” she asks, and she’s not skeptical, which he appreciates. She just seems to want to know _how_ , which is a really long story he’s just not gonna get into with his kid’s tennis instructor, no matter how cute she is. 

He shrugs. He figures he can give her the cliff’s notes. “I’ve got some investments.” 

Allie lets out a laugh as Sloan pushes open the gate to the fence and steps onto the court. There’s a little shed he doesn’t keep locked, and she goes right in and gets her gear, which he’s been telling her all week she needs to save for lessons. 

“If it’s okay, do you mind if she and I talk a little? Get to know each other?” Allie asks, and Harry feels himself give her a questioning look. 

Not that he has a problem with it. He just thinks...Look, if Allie’s younger than him at all, he’d guess it’s by a year or two at most. Most of his friends are mostly cool with Sloan now, but with the exception of Becca, none of them really knew how to deal with kids. Like, watching Grizz try to answer Sloan’s questions about why the sun moves in the daytime in a way that she’d understand was literally hilarious. 

Granted, Allie’s an instructor, so he should assume she’s better with kids than people who’ve actually never had to interact with any. 

“Yeah, sure,” he answers, and Allie throws him a little smile he thinks is kind of adorable. 

“Just like, 15 minutes?” she asks, and he just nods. Enough time to go, finish his coffee and make another one, and finish reviewing the proposal he was in the middle of last night when he got so tired he knew he had to call it a night. 

“Whatever you need. If you want water, or anything, just come inside. Sloan’ll show you.” 

Allie nods, says thank you, and Harry watches her turn to his kid and say something about how excited she is to help Sloan learn to play. He smiles to himself as he’s walking back to the house. He’s thinking Helena must have been right when she was singing Allie’s praises and telling him if he was serious about Sloan having fun and being good, there was really only one option. 

He turns around for one last look before heading inside. Both Allie and Sloan are sitting cross-legged on the tennis court. Allie laughs at something and he definitely thinks he’s made the right choice. 

… … …

It takes Allie three lessons to get over her embarrassment over her initial introduction to Harry. Mostly because when he opened the door, she was struck a little stupid at how attractive he is, and it was _so much easier_ when she figured he was an older sibling or half sibling; shared a parent with the person she was there to give lessons to. Like, she’s seen this kind of thing before. If she had a dollar for every time she’d been hit on by the older sibling of someone she’s teaching…

She didn’t google him ahead of time, because googling people is weird. But with a glass of wine in hand after getting home from her second lesson with Sloan, she can’t help herself. He’s attractive, and like, her age, and has a small kid and a massive house. She’s got so many questions and she figures the internet might be able to help so that she doesn’t make an ass of herself a second time and just blurt something out. 

He’s 27 and from Connecticut, went to Harvard and has an MBA. He works at a small but very prestigious public affairs firm she’s heard of many times before. And he sits on the board of a youth mental health nonprofit, which she’s a little surprised by. But all that...There’s no way any of this explains his obvious wealth, so she just assumes the rest of it is the result of generational privilege and closes her laptop, because it doesn’t even matter. God. She’s being stupid. 

When she meets up with Helena - when her friend invites her to the club for a match after Allie finishes up her lesson with Sloan one Saturday afternoon - she figures this is also a way to get some answers. 

“Hey, how do you know Harry Bingham?” she asks as they sit on the bench next to the court and Allie ties her shoes. Helena’s stretching but Allie still feels pretty loose from two lessons. 

“Oh god,” Helena says, laughing a little. “He used to play, like, a million years ago. He quit when we were 10 or so.” Allie just waits. There’s got to be more. That doesn’t explain why they’re still in touch. “Our moms are in the same lunch group. We’ve sort of been peripherally in each others’ orbits forever.” 

Right. Rich people connections. 

“He’s younger than I expected,” Allie says, and Helena smiles, so she probably knows what Allie’s getting at here. (That he’s hotter than she expected.) “And like, really fucking rich.” 

She usually tries to watch her language when she’s at fancy clubs and stuff, but there’s no one else in earshot. 

Allie’s dying to ask if he’s still with Sloan’s mom, but that is very, very much none of her damn business. And she is super aware that she wouldn’t care if she wasn’t so attracted to him. 

“What’s he like as a dad? I could never picture it.” 

Allie wonders how close he and Helena are; probably not very, honestly. Just like, acquaintances in the way that rich people are. Like, families that know families, and know enough to call the right people to get what they want. 

Allie doesn’t know how to answer that question, either. “I don’t know. Sloan’s a great kid, I think. He just like, drinks coffee and watches and laughs at the cute shit she says.”

Helena smiles like that’s sort of adorable. And she’s right. It is.

“Come on. I’m ready to get my ass kicked,” Helena says, reaches for her racquet. Allie laughs and jogs onto the court. 

(She doesn’t kick Helena’s ass. She wins. But she goes easy when she can tell Helena’s shoulder’s nagging her.) 

… … …

He’s got a call with clients in London, which he’s pissed enough about already because they’re being unreasonable and it’s a Saturday. But then Kelly’s here because this is their agreement, and Sloan’s in a mood because she wants both of them to watch her lesson. He scheduled his call at this time because he knew Kelly’d be here and if she wasn’t, that Allie would be. He tries really hard not to use Sloan’s tennis teacher as a babysitter, but this was literally the only time he could take this call and appease the client, and also, Kelly’s here for the first time for one of these lessons. Her schedule’s insane and he’s not mad about it, but like… He feels like a selfish asshole to want a Saturday off, too, you know? 

He’s being an idiot. It just kind of caused a little tension that they both can’t watch today. As if he’d rather be working than sitting outside in nice weather right now.

He gets the notification that the gate’s opened and someone’s coming in. He tells Sloan and Kelly, and Kelly smiles at their daughter but not at him. Whatever. The fact that they’re not together and haven’t been in four years means he doesn’t have to worry _quite_ so much that Kelly’s pissed at him. She’ll get over it. 

He’s told Allie that if they’re not outside when she arrives, to just come in the house; they’re usually in the kitchen or living room and he’s given her a brief tour. She’d commented that he wasn’t as weird about his property as some of her clients are, and he’d replied, “I’m not gonna treat you like you’re the help,” which he thinks she liked. 

Anyway, Kelly’s giving him a pointed look when Sloan’s asking him if he’s going to come watch, even though he’s already explained that he can’t right away and might not be able to, and Allie walks into the house smiling. She’s not wearing her usual tennis outfit; today she’s got on a pair of dark purple pants and a black tee shirt with some like, mesh at the top or something. He can see her purple sports bra underneath. He shouldn’t stare. He’s not staring. 

“Mommy’s gonna watch,” he reminds her, and that seems to make Sloan happy enough. And he figures as the adult here who knows how all these pieces connect, he should introduce Allie to Kelly and vice versa. “Allie, this is Kelly. Sloan’s mom.”

“Oh, so nice to meet you,” Allie says, smiling prettily and holding out her hand. Kelly shakes it, too, and echoes the sentiment. Harry checks his watch. He’s got 10 minutes; enough time to get settled in his office and open the documents he’ll need to reference. 

“Have fun, okay?” he tells Sloan, runs a hand over her hair; Kelly just braided it in two little braids down either side of her head. It looks cute. “I’ll be down before mommy leaves for work.” 

He catches Allie’s eye as he’s leaving the room and she looks nervous, or, he thinks, like maybe she feels like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t. 

Look, he’s not saying he and Allie are close, by any stretch of the imagination, but they have a decent rapport. Sloan loves her and can barely stop talking about Allie and tennis for hours after her lessons, and usually a ton in between. The other day, she started crying because she thought it was Tuesday, which is lesson day, and was upset that it wasn’t. And she’s got a few skills on the court now, too, which...Look, he’s not saying it’s secondary, but she’s fucking five years old and he’s not the kind of parent who shells out the amount of money he does for tennis lessons because he needs his kid to be a star. If she likes it and she’s having fun, it’s worth it. 

God, he remembers his lessons when he was a kid. His dad would sit there and watch and then force Harry to play with him between lessons and absolutely shit on him for doing something wrong or forgetting perfect form, or whatever. When he was 10 and his dad told him if he wasn’t going to take it seriously, he should just quit, he decided on the latter. Even at that age, he was so used to his father’s disappointment that it didn’t even bother him that his dad spoke to him less and less after that. 

As long as that’s not Sloan’s experience, Harry’s happy. And she’s not gonna get that pressure from him or Kelly, and if anyone else tries, he’s gonna have to have words. He likes that Allie’s a great teacher but she doesn’t put so much pressure on her students that it isn’t fun. 

By the time his call wraps and he checks his texts, he nearly panics. While he was in here trying to put out this fire, Kelly got paged and had to leave because one of her patients went into labour early. Shit. Sloan’s lesson has been finished for 15 minutes, and when he looks out the window, Allie’s car’s still in the drive. _Shit_. 

He rushes downstairs and hears Sloan and Allie laughing in the kitchen. They’re sitting at the kitchen island, both drinking water and sharing a little bowl of strawberries, and Harry just…

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and he’s speaking to both of them. He kisses Sloan’s head and notices the way Allie smiles and looks down. She’s got her foot pulled up and resting on the stool so her knee’s up and her arm’s around her leg. She looks comfortable. It’s nice. “I was on a call and didn’t see Kelly’s message. Thank you for staying.”

Allie gives him a look, like she thinks he’s crazy for thanking her, or something. “I wasn’t going to leave,” she says gently, softly, like…

No, he doesn’t know. It’s a different tone than he’s ever heard her use. Sloan says something about getting something from her room to show Allie, and he really wants to tell her that Allie can’t stay, but he worries if he says it out loud it’ll sound like he’s asking her to leave, which he’s not. 

“I can pay you for the extra time.”

Allie pulls a face. “That’s totally not necessary. Oh, my god.” He tilts his head. He feels badly. Can she not just let him do this? “I have literally nothing to get back to.” Harry laughs a little, and she looks mad at herself for saying it. “I just mean I don't have plans tonight, other than meal prepping and maybe having a glass of wine.”

Harry grins, wonders if he can pivot to a plan B. He goes to the wine fridge under the counter and grabs a bottle of this riesling he loves, glances at the label, then hands it to her. 

“I insist,” he tells her, and she tilts her head, looks solely at him and not at the bottle, like she’s really conflicted and doesn’t want to accept. “Come on. I feel like an asshole. Let me say thank you?”

Allie rolls her eyes, looks away and then upward. “One usually says thank you with words, which you’ve already done.” 

Okay, true. He smiles at her and raises a brow, sets the bottle down and slides it towards her using his fingertips. 

“You’re being super generous with your time. I’m trying to respect your boundary around payment.”

“Look, it’s...A lot of families pull this kind of thing like I’m childcare and don’t say thank you at all or acknowledge their lateness. You’re not an asshole.”

You know, you’d think that he wouldn’t feel as good about that as he does. It’s not even a compliment, it’s just her saying that he’s not a piece of shit. But it does feel sort of nice to know he’s at least different from the people she usually works for. Not that he didn’t know that to begin with. Like, he’s a rich asshole, but he’s not a _rich asshole_.

“Okay,” he says, but pushes the wine closer, and she laughs out loud, which is a nice sound, and sighs heavily and shakes her head, but accepts it. It pleases him, okay? He thinks he owes her something for this and now they’re square. He doesn’t like owing people.

“Kelly’s...Sorry, I don’t know your situation. Are you…”

He wishes he could tell if she was asking because she wants to _know_ , or just so she can understand the dynamic. Harry leans back against the counter, crosses his arms, and then crosses his legs at the ankle. 

“My ex.” Allie nods, then he watches her bite her bottom lip just a little. Interesting. “We’re cool, it’s just...Complicated. She’s a doctor, and her hours are wild. She has her own place, but lives here and hangs with Sloan when she’s actually off.”

“That’s…” Allie pauses, and he thinks she’s considering her word choice. “Unconventional.” He breathes out a laugh. “But she’s great, and Sloan is also one of the best kids I’ve taught in years, so it’s gotta be working.”

Harry smiles, and this is a thing he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, okay? There’s such a specific feeling you get when someone compliments your kid. It’s one of the best things he’s ever experienced, and he knows that makes him a sap. But if he’s being honest, he’s been a sap since the moment he held her for the first time. He just doesn’t like to advertise it because that feels weird, too.

“Thanks, Allie,” he says softly, and she gives him this pretty smile and pushes her hair off her forehead. 

See, the complicated thing here is that he’s more and more attracted to her the more they interact. It’s harmless; he’s capable of thinking someone’s attractive without acting on it. It’s just interesting. 

He thinks he’s been looking forward to lesson day as much as Sloan has, but for decidedly different reasons. He likes looking at Allie. She’s nice to look at. 

(Knowing, now, even more, that it’s nice to talk to her, too...He doesn’t know how to file that fact.)

“I should…”

Sloan comes back into the kitchen with a bunch of her books in her arms, and Harry just laughs and walks over to take some of them from her before she drops them. She says something about these being all her favourites, and Allie hops down off the stool and kneels on the floor. Harry can sort of see down her top, but doesn’t look once he’s noticed this. She just says something sweet about how Sloan should pick her favourite one and maybe on Tuesday after their lesson they can read it together. It’s delicate and kind and successfully redirects Sloan’s attention from _all the books_ , and Harry wonders how she’s so good at this. 

He walks her to the door, thanks her again, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

“You don’t have to thank me every time. Like, are those your favourite words, or something?”

Harry, without thinking or adjusting his tone, just says, “Not hardly,” which doesn’t even mean anything at all, but Allie’s cheeks stain pink and she blinks at him like she’s surprised but not bothered, and she says goodbye and that she’ll see him on Tuesday. 

… … …

Okay, this wine is incredible, and when she’s waiting for her dinner to cook, she googles the name so she can buy it again, and then immediately laughs at herself. It’s $120 a bottle. Not that she couldn’t treat herself, but god, she should’ve known he wasn’t just handing her something she could get at the corner wine shop, or whatever. She should’ve just let him give her cash for the 15 minutes, apparently, because it would’ve been more economical for him. Not that she’s terribly worried about his pocket book, or whatever. 

She needs to stop doing this thing where she thinks about him between lessons. It’s legitimately bordering on inappropriate. Just because all the other parents of her students are like, much older and definitely not 10s doesn’t mean she can openly stare at him or think in any way she has a shot. Like, she should not just openly thirst over this guy just because he’s young and she thinks he’s hot and like, genuinely nice. 

Lots of people are young and hot and nice. It’s been a stupidly long time since she met anyone fitting that description that she was interested in, but that definitely doesn’t mean it’s a rare thing, or whatever. 

Cassandra comes over after Allie invites her. She said she was bored at home and Allie mentioned she had wine and that was definitely enough to get Cassandra into an Uber and coming uptown. Once they’ve both got glasses and Allie’s serving up this pasta thing she sort of fumbled her way through, she thinks she can mention something to her sister. 

“So, I definitely can’t start anything with the dad of one of my students, right?”

Cassandra freezes, wine glass halfway raised to her lips, and just blinks. “No, Allie. You absolutely cannot!” 

And so she drops it. 

Tries to. 

Really, really means to. 

Seriously.

It’s just that she shows up on Tuesday and he’s looking a little stressed, talking on the phone in the kitchen while Sloan hops down off her stool and runs out towards the court. Allie mouths in his direction, asking if he’s okay, and he pauses a moment like he’s surprised she cares, and then gives her a little smile and nods. She heads outside, then, pulls the door shut behind her. When he joins them 20 minutes later, she and Sloan are just rallying a little and Allie is giving the girl some small reminders. Harry sits on the bench courtside and runs a hand through his hair, and definitely politely doesn’t say anything when Allie misses a return because she’s distracted. She can absolutely see on his face that he wants to. 

Then, on Saturday, she promised to be Cassandra’s guest to this fancy garden party, and she’s thankful she doesn't have to cancel her lessons, but she definitely doesn’t have enough time to go home, shower and change. She texts Harry, asking if he minds if she uses his washroom to freshen up and change to get ready for an event. He replies that of course it’s fine, and he and Sloan won’t be in a rush to get anywhere or anything. Any and all of their messages back and forth have been about lessons. Like when he said he was going to be out, but Becca would be there with Sloan, or when he mentioned he had to leave midway through at one point but Kelly was going to arrive before Allie had to leave. 

She confirms it again when she arrives, asks if it’s okay that she showers and uses his bathroom for like, an hour, or something, and he laughs and tells her he has others so it’s really not a big deal. 

It feels weird to be naked in his house. Which, she also realizes, is an insane way to think about it. He’s being super generous, and she absolutely would never have even asked any of her other clients. Harry’s just cool, and they have a good back and forth that’s not too serious but absolutely not crossing any lines. (Except sometimes she checks him out when he’s not paying attention, but like, who wouldn’t?) 

She pulls her hair all up so she doesn’t have to deal with drying it, or rather, it drying in a weird mess rather than how she wants it. She really just wants to wash the sweat and sunscreen off her skin so she can get to her makeup quickly. God, when she dawdles this takes her an hour and 20 minutes. She is absolutely not going to overstay her welcome. And she’s going to a stupid garden party where she’ll be outside and definitely sweating all over again. She’s keeping it simple. 

When she steps out of the washroom, she hears the television in the living room, figures she’ll just quickly say goodbye before heading out. She steps into the room and Harry’s on the couch, Sloan sleeping all curled up next to him, her little feet against his thigh. It’s terribly cute. 

Honestly, she’s not expecting his reaction. Which is to look completely blank, then surprised, then give her a little smile and raise one eyebrow. 

Yeah, okay. 

Like, sure, she’s wearing a pretty floral dress and her nicest sandals, and more makeup than she usually does to come here, but she can’t imagine she looks like, incredibly different to how he usually sees her. 

“Thank you,” she says, and god, maybe she’s thanking him for the look he’s giving her, because she’s absolutely receiving it as a compliment. But she’s just honestly trying to thank him for letting her stay a bit longer. “I’m gonna take off.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Yeah, she’s not gonna stop him. She watches him carefully get up and walk towards her, and he absolutely looks her up and down. She doesn’t even think he’s trying to be particularly discrete about it. She doesn’t mind the attention. She wonders if he knows that; if he can tell.

When they get to the door, he turns to her, gives her a look she’s sure he’s given women many times before, and says, “You look amazing.”

And even though she knows it’s coming, she still feels her cheeks heating up. Which he’s clearly pleased by, if the little grin on his face is any indication. 

“Thanks,” she says, and she’s legitimately starting to think that is the word they say to one another most often. “I hope this party isn’t trash. My sister has a tendency to get invited to boring things.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make the most of it.”

Honestly, it’s a stupid, passing thought she has, that it’d be fun if he were her date, or something. If they could go to this thing together and spend their time talking, learning more about each other. God, why is that even a thing she wants? She won’t lie and say she doesn’t. It just doesn’t make sense. The things she knows about him are so basic and none really lead her to want further conversation. Like, who cares if he’s got money? If he went to Harvard? But then there’s this, right? The way he looks at her, and how he speaks to her, and it just feels like there’s something _there_ between them. She’s being so stupid. Probably, she only feels this way because he’s hot and in another life maybe she’d try to sleep with him.

She gestures to the door, suddenly weirdly nervous, and he pulls it open for her, gives her this gentle look she likes immediately. 

“Tuesday?” she asks, and Harry nods. 

“Tuesday. Take care.”

Allie feels fucking butterflies as she walks to her car and realizes she hasn’t heard the door close yet, and thinks that probably means he’s just watching her. She doesn’t hate it. Not even a little. 

Later, after two mint juleps at this stupid party that Cassandra promises her they only have to stay at for another 40 minutes, she chews her bottom lip and her sister’s looking at her curiously. 

“Okay, but are we really, 100% certain I can’t sleep with the dad of one of my students?”

Cassandra laughs, but then seems to realize Allie’s genuinely, seriously asking, and tilts her head. “It’s a _bad_ idea. And you know it.”

Allie pouts. It’s not even fake. Cassandra tells her to just find someone else to focus her wild summer attention on, and Allie pretends to be insulted at the mention of this inside joke they have that all Allie’s more interesting decisions and drama happen in the warmer months. It’s not her fault, okay? It’s just...It gets warm and then the days are longer and there’s tennis and opportunity and people in less clothing. It’s science. 

… … …

He was hoping to see her Tuesday - he’s hoping to see her as much as possible, he just isn’t ready to admit that to himself just yet - but he gets called into the city for meetings, so he arranges with Becca to make sure she can stay a little later. She says yes, but asks if she and Eden can just stay the night, because it’s so much easier for her that way. It’s not the first time and won’t be the last, and he thanks her over and over because he really appreciates her flexibility, you know? He knows exactly how good he’s got it with her. 

He texts Allie so she knows what’s going on, and she replies back with a thumbs up and _’No worries.’_ Part of him wishes their messages back and forth were more than just updates and bits of news like this. But that’s stupid, because he absolutely cannot do anything about this wild attraction he has to her. 

But god, on the weekend when she was standing there in that dress with her eyes all soft and pretty and her hair like that...Look, it feels like more than attraction. It feels like something different. He doesn’t know her well enough at all to think that, but he fucking does, okay? It’s ridiculous. It makes no sense. Maybe it’s some weird summer fantasy thing he has. Like, who _wouldn’t_ think this way about a hot tennis instructor, right? 

Then he considers it might just be his considerable childhood trauma manifesting. Shit. He talks about it with his therapist. Like, his dad fucked around with, to Harry’s knowledge, almost every woman his parents hired to do anything around the home, including Harry’s nanny, the housekeeper, and, one time, an event planner planning Harry’s 16th birthday. Plus, there’s all that shit with Harry’s own tennis ‘career’ or whatever and his complicated relationship with his dad. 

He leaves the session with more questions and confusion than he entered with, but he feels better having talked about it. Which is sort of how therapy works, in his experience. And he’s got a lot of experience. 

Tuesday when he’s leaving his last meeting, which ends late, he checks his phone before packing his laptop and things into his bag. There’s a message from Allie. It’s a picture of Sloan on the court in the sun, her little knees bent and her racquet in both hands in front of her. She looks all serious and ready to return the ball. She looks like a legit tennis player. It strikes him, too, that she looks older, which scares the shit out of him. 

Allie’s said, _’Look at your little ace’_. Harry smiles too widely and saves the photo to his camera roll, then sends it to Kelly, too. 

Harry writes back that he appreciates Allie sending the photo, that he’s sorry he couldn’t be there to see it in person. 

Allie writes back, _’Clear your schedule for Saturday. You should rally with her.’_ and a wink emoji like he thinks she’s maybe trying to make it a little more gentle so it’s not a command, or something. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been thinking way too hard about tennis as it relates to him just because of all the shit on his mind lately. He hasn’t played in ages and ages. He thinks the last time was like, eight years ago at the club when Helena wouldn’t take no for an answer and they were both bored as hell because their moms were talking. She’d beaten him in straight sets. At least half the time, he spent trying to remember what the hell he was supposed to do and how to do it properly. Helena’s great and sort of awesome at giving pointers and being patient. Why do you think he called her first to see if she’d teach Sloan? She’d just told him she’s okay with adults but not good with children and made this recommendation that’s working out pretty well for Sloan. And him.

Anyway, he tells Allie his schedule’s already clear, and that he’s looking forward to it. Which...isn’t a lie. He isn’t thrilled at the possibility of getting his ass kicked by his five year old (who’s he kidding; he’s absolutely going to let her win) but he does like the idea of Allie watching him. 

This is so dangerous. He’s really got to stop this. 

Then Allie’s there on Saturday in a black tennis skirt, black top, and she rests the handle of her racquet against her inner thigh as she pulls her hair up, and like…

Does he have a single hope in hell against this? And it’s not wrong to appreciate that she’s attractive and enjoy seeing her. He can do that. He can do just that. 

He doesn’t even have a racquet, but Allie presses hers into his palm as she smiles. It's kind of adorable how excited she is to show off Sloan’s progress, as if he hasn’t been watching most of her lessons at least part of the time she’s out here. 

Sloan shouts, “Good luck, Daddy!” across the court, and he doesn’t know if she’s being genuine or trying to trash talk him, but it makes him smile and Allie’s laughing, and god, this is already the most fun he’s had all week.

And she is good, and she can return the ball most of the time, and she’s five, so it’s not like she gets a lot of speed on her returns, but she can clear the net and she looks kind of fucking adorable with her little concentration face. 

Allie walks towards him after about 10 minutes, smiling at him as she says, “You need to bend your knees more.”

Harry laughs because he thinks she’s joking, and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, coach.”

She takes the racquet from him, then puts her hand between his shoulder blades, which feels better than it should. “Go sit down.”

“Am I that bad?”

“No,” she says, her hand sliding across his back when he turns to face her. Then she’s not touching him at all, and she says, “I’m just better.” 

It’s fucking sexy and she knows it, and Harry likes it. A lot. He takes a breath and goes to sit down as Allie joins Sloan on the opposite side of the net and starts talking to her about working on her serve. He watches a little too closely when Allie’s demonstrating. Her form is good. He’s not being gross. She’s just...good at tennis. He likes the way her arm looks when she raises the ball. He likes the way her legs look when she jumps and her skirt hits the back of her thighs. 

But then he likes the way she laughs when Sloan says something cute. The way she’s gentle and patient and corrects things without making it sound like Sloan’s _wrong_. These are not things he should find attractive, but he does. Like, these qualities are things he’s literally never paid attention to in a woman before. Well, other than Kelly and Becca, but that feels really, really different. 

He hasn’t been in a _relationship_ since Kelly. He literally hasn’t had time. Between a baby, a breakup, and starting his career, he’s had his hands full, okay? A relationship isn’t on his priority list. It hasn’t been. He just...Maybe he’s letting his mom get all in his head, because lately he’s been feeling like she’s right, and he’s not getting any younger and he should probably at least start thinking about what he wants from a potential relationship, right? He comes with baggage, okay? Jesus, he comes with a trunk full of baggage. Like, Sloan is one thing. That his ex lives at his house part time is another. Then there’s the loss of his dad, who was never really a support anyway, and some substance abuse issues when he was in high school that had him quietly doing a summer of rehab before starting his freshman year at Harvard…

It’s fucking complicated, and thinking about meeting someone who can deal with all that is difficult. Not that he doesn’t want to. For a while, he didn’t. He just...didn’t have it in him to bother. He’s got a place in the city and enough charm to find someone to warm his bed if he wants that. Which he does, sometimes. It just feels like an old game at this point. 

He’s a little worried he’s projecting this somewhat newfound desire to grow the fuck up and pursue a relationship onto Allie, who’s attractive and nice and sweet to his kid. 

Sloan runs over and hops up next to him after the lesson is over, and he realizes he’s been zoned out most of the time thinking about all this shit. Allie tucks her racquet into her bag and reaches for her water bottle, which is this bright pink thing with yellow stars on it. It’s sort of obnoxious but somehow still suits her. She takes a long drink and then reaches for a towel from her bag, dabs at her forehead and then the back of her neck and her chest. Harry tries not to stare. 

Sloan asks if she can have a snack, so she runs back towards the house and Harry calls after her to wash her hands - god, he can’t wait til the kid remembers to do that without constant reminders - then waits while Allie gathers her things. Then they’re walking together slowly across the path to the house and driveway. 

“You should practice with her between lessons,” Allie says, and Harry gives her a look. “I mean, if you have time. I don’t know what your schedule’s like.”

He laughs a little. “Crazy,” he says, which is true. But also Sloan’s finishing up school this week and then out for the summer, which makes it easier to have time together. He works his ass off but can shuffle his days around on occasion. “You don’t think it’d set her back?”

“No,” she says on a quiet laugh, and then looks like she’s holding something back, so he just watches, waiting. “I mean, she’s five. She hasn’t perfected anything.” 

Harry chuckles, knowing she’s right. “I just wanna respect what you two have going on.”

“You’re really not like the other parents, are you?” she asks, and then they’re by her car and he doesn’t know how to respond to that. He also likes talking to her so much that he sort of wishes she could stay. That’s a fucked up thought. “You’re way more laid back.”

“I…” He knows his attitude towards tennis or any other thing his kid wants to try is totally informed by his shit with his dad. He’s not sure how to distill that for Allie so it isn’t pathetic. “I had a complicated relationship with my dad.” Yeah, that’s definitely not a successful attempt. “I imagine the other parents are a lot like him, and I just...Don’t wanna be that.”

Allie gives him a gentle look he thinks he could have serious feelings for, and nods gently. Then Sloan’s coming through the front door - leaving it open behind her and probably letting all the cool air out, but whatever - holding a string cheese and an apple. He wants to laugh. 

He wants to keep talking to Allie alone. Not that he wants Sloan to not be here. He just… 

“I feel like I just learned a lot about you,” Allie says, and like, _fuck_. She’s not making this easy. (Or, really, she’s making wanting her too easy. Leaving it be, this chemistry they have, is the hard thing.) “I’ll see you Tuesday, Harry.” 

“See you Tuesday, Allie.” 

She says goodbye to Sloan and gives her a high five. Harry watches her drive away, then Sloan’s talking about how he promised she could watch that movie again, and she’s right even though he’s regretting his decision to put on this thing she’s seen 15 times before. Whatever. He sits with her and reads while she watches until she gets tired and cuddles up with him like she hardly ever does anymore. She’s all pressed against his side when she falls asleep, which is sort of becoming a thing on Saturdays after her lessons. He takes a picture of the two of them and then closes his eyes for just a few minutes. He wakes up when Kelly comes in after her shift. She’s taken a photo of them, too. He tells her to airdrop it to him and asks how her day’s been. 

… … …

She feels the first raindrop before she even notices the clouds behind her and how dark they are. She can tell it’s about to absolutely start pouring, and Sloan lets out this adorable giggle that makes Allie laugh, and then she’s jogging towards the kid and telling her to go inside before she gets soaked. Sloan wants to help put things away, so she sticks around a minute, but then there are way more raindrops and Allie insists Sloan run inside. Harry’s not been watching because he had a meeting, or whatever, but she thinks he usually works in the kitchen when Sloan’s around instead of in his office. Anyway, he’ll be inside when Sloan gets there. Allie’s soaked herself, as she puts the machine and everything back away in the little shed, and when she glances over her shoulder, she sees that Sloan’s hair is drenched as she pushes open the door that leads into the mudroom in the house. Allie figures she should use that one, too. 

She mutters, “Fuck,” when she realizes she left her bag unzipped and it’s literally housing a puddle now, but tosses her racquet inside and makes a break for the house. She gets to just under the eaves when the first crack of thunder rumbles, and cowers a little, then laughs at herself. 

The door opens behind her and Harry’s standing there, a little grin on his face she can’t spend much time thinking about. It almost looks like he’s finding her super attractive, and just...Her clothes are drenched through and her hair is literally dripping and she looks away so she can dump the water out of her bag. 

“Fuck,” he laughs, and Allie lets out a laugh, too, at his reaction being the same as hers. “Come inside before you get washed away.”

She does, steps into the mud room. Sloan isn’t there and Allie sees tiny wet footprints leading out into the house. Harry grabs a towel out of a cupboard, opens it up and then wraps it around her. It means he’s very close to her, the clean, heady scent of his cologne or whatever that is all in her space, and his hands on her upper arms. He’s still just looking at her, then smiles a bit, reaches up and uses his finger to push her drenched hair off her forehead. 

“I’m sure I’m a mess,” she says, knowing that this look on his face is...She’s baiting him, okay? She can tell he doesn’t agree. 

He just says, “No,” all softly, and Allie rubs her lips together and then realizes she shouldn’t have fucking done that. He watches her do it, then takes a deep breath and steps back, out of her space. “What do you need?”

Honestly, it’s a dangerous question, because what she wants - what she could convince herself she _needs_ \- is...

No. Not going there.

“I don’t have a change of clothes. I didn’t expect…” _To get wet_ is what she stops herself from saying, thank all the fucking gods. “I can stay. We can watch videos and finish out our time. I just...Don’t want to leave a me shaped mark on your couch.”

He breathes out a laugh, gives her this little smile, and says, “Come on. You can borrow something from Kelly.” Okay, weird. But also fine. “Sloan’s changing. She loves this shit.”

Allie laughs and follows him towards the stairs. She’s never been up there before. It feels personal and intimate in a way that makes her a little uncomfortable, and she’s set at ease only by how easy he’s being. Maybe that sounds weird. He’s just not putting a second thought to it - at least not as much as she can tell. Like, he’s literally in his sock feet walking up the stairs ahead of her and setting his hand on the banister when he gets close to the top like she can almost imagine he does every time. He leads her down to the end of a long hallway and into a room that _looks_ like Kelly. There’s a pale pink and grey striped duvet on a made bed, and some pretty art on the walls and some photos of Sloan and of some other people Allie doesn’t know. She’d ask if it’s okay that she’s in here, but Harry brought her here and it's his house and she assumes he and Kelly have had many conversations about space, since they continue to share it, so.

He points towards the closet and tells her to help herself, which…

“It’s all good,” he says, and that...should be more convincing that it is. He smiles. “Seriously. Becca’s borrowed clothes before. Kelly’d hate the idea of you being uncomfortable and waterlogged.”

Allie laughs a little, nods. “Thanks,” she says gently.

“Bathroom’s through there if you need,” he says, pointing to the corner of the room. 

This place is like a second master bedroom. She wonders if it _is_ the master. She wonders how fucking many rooms this house actually has. Because there’s another hallway as long as the one he just led her down on the opposite side of the stairs, and she thinks she heard Sloan down that way. 

“You good?” he asks, laughing a little and looking at her dubiously. 

“Yeah,” she answers too quickly. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”

He looks like he wants to say something to that, but what he does instead is give her this really sort of stunning look like he thinks she’s cute and he wants to know _more_.

“I’ll make you a coffee to warm up?” he offers, and god, she could kiss him. 

She won’t, because apparently that’s a bad idea. But he’s like, kind, and sweet, and so fucking _hot_. There’s this gentle thing about the way he seems to care for people. She sees it with Sloan and that was attractive enough. But she’s finding when it’s directed at her, she kind of just wants to take his clothes off. 

“I’d love that.”

He absolutely winks before he turns around and leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him, and like...What the _fuck_? Who _winks_? And what does it say about her that she _liked it_?

When she’s leaving, after watching some training videos on YouTube on the massive TV in the living room, standing next to it with the remote in her hand as Sloan sat on the coffee table watching, her little legs swinging as Allie pointed out specifics…

Okay, fuck. She was distracted, a little, by Harry, slouched on the sofa with a coffee in his hand and his head tilted, twirling a lock of his hair over and over on his finger. But like, _god_. Can she even be blamed?

Anyway, when she’s leaving, he says, “You’re a good teacher,” which she knew he thought already. It’s still raining and he hands her an umbrella so she can get to the car without getting soaked again. 

She says, “You’re a good host,” and he laughs like he thinks that’s surprising to hear her say, or something. She really wants to address this thing between them. Because… 

He reaches out and sets his hand on her shoulder, and he’s watching himself do it, and Allie’s just looking at his face. 

“Text me when you get home?”

Allie’s flush with affection. Like, he _cares_. He’s not even trying to act like he doesn’t. 

“You worried?” she asks, trying for teasing, but he’s just watching her, squeezes her shoulder and then lets his hand fall away. 

“It’s crazy out there,” he says, looking past her out the window next to the door. She pauses, just watches him. He sighs and rolls his eyes a little overdramatically, which makes her laugh a little. “Yeah, I’m worried.”

Allie can’t help smiling, and she looks downward and then back up. He’s still looking at her. “I’ll text you when I get home,” she confirms. 

They don’t actually say goodbye. He just opens the door, grimaces at the downpour, and then she hears him laughing as she runs across the driveway under the umbrella towards her car.

… … …

Allie reschedules a lesson when she gets a last minute photography gig. She tells him she can either make up the lesson on another day or they can just skip it; whichever works for his schedule. She’d let him know at the outset that this could happen, that she’s a freelancer and sometimes lands work that interferes, but she’d always give as much notice as possible. As much notice as she can this time is four days, but he’s not bothered. It’s not a big deal. They just agree she can come on Wednesday rather than Tuesday, and it all works out. She thanks him for being understanding, and it’s only the second time they’ve spoken on the phone, but he likes that she didn’t hesitate to call. 

He finds himself wanting to know more about the job she’s taken. He wants to keep her on the line and ask her how she got into photography in the first place. He joked a while back that the photos she sends him of Sloan are some of the best he has of his kid. It wasn’t really a joke. He’s not bad with his iPhone but what Allie can do with just her phone and her eye and her training, or whatever, is like, actually kind of insane. 

Tuesday, he’s in the city for meetings anyway. He knew he wouldn’t see her for the lesson as it was, because he’s got a dinner meeting to try and close more work with one of his clients, and then he’s got three meetings back to back Wednesday morning, so he’s planning to stay at his place in the city. Kelly’s around, so it all works out. 

As he’s leaving the restaurant after paying and saying goodbye to his clients, watching them leave, the last thing he expects to see is Allie walking down the sidewalk with a black camera bag slung over her shoulder, a pair of dark jeans and a tight black tank top on. He’s sort of struck dumb because he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at for a moment. Like, it’s hard to imagine that of all the streets she’d be walking down, it’s this one, outside this fancy restaurant. 

She hasn’t noticed him yet, but when she does, he thinks she’s going through the same thought process he just did. He smiles, slips his hand into his pants pocket, and steps towards her. She tugs her earbuds out and pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. 

“How’d it go?” he asks, as if this is just...Like, he just made it sound like it’s totally normal for them to run into one another. Or, actually, he made it sound as though they’d made _plans_ to meet, or something, and he’s just catching up on her day. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, a little reverently. 

“Dinner meeting.” He gestures towards the restaurant and she nods. She doesn’t say anything. 

“Sorry. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He gives her a look. That sounds sort of fucked up, but he also has no idea what goes on at a fashion shoot, but he can imagine a world where there's not a lot of time for her to take a break.

He’s watching her try and figure out how to just ask, and it’s kind of adorable, the way she rubs her lips together and won’t look at him. He also thinks it just leaves him an opening to be the one to make the move.

“Let’s grab a drink and something to eat.” 

She smiles, then tries to hide it, bites the corner of her lip. He can almost see her trying to talk herself out of it. He can tell she wants to say it’s a bad idea. And maybe it is. But he also saw the way she checked him out a few minutes ago in his suit. He realizes she’s never seen him dressed like this. It’s almost worth it to be roasting in 90 degree heat; he’d liked the way she looked him up and down. 

What she says instead of ‘no’, is, “I thought you said you just had dinner,” and she’s got this little grin on her lips like she wants him to just fucking say he wants to hang out with her. 

“I have a feeling you’re better company.” Allie laughs at that, then meets his eyes again. He can tell she’s really thinking hard about this. “No pressure.” 

“There’s a good pub around the corner,” she says, and Harry keeps himself from showing how happy he is. He thinks he does, anyway. 

“How d’you know that?”

She laughs, puts her hands on his shoulders to turn him towards the street, and then points upward at the building on the other side, this little shoe store that looks a hundred years old, and then the apartments above. “That’s my bedroom window.”

Right. Knowing they’re this close to her place is making him jump to some conclusions he absolutely fucking shouldn’t. That maybe he can flirt with her more than usual, and maybe he’ll kiss her, and maybe she’ll invite him up to her place. She just mentioned her bedroom, but he definitely shouldn’t make any assumptions that there’s any deeper meaning there. He meant it when he said no pressure. If she’d told him they shouldn’t and wished him a good evening, that would’ve been fine. Shit, at least he’d have an answer and could forget all this. 

But now she’s starting down the sidewalk next to him, their steps matching, and she asks him how his meeting went, and he’s distracted by the way the sun’s hitting her cheekbone, the way her hair’s a little messy and making him want to sink his hands into it, and yeah, she definitely catches him looking.

“Sorry,” he says, but he isn’t, not really. She looks like she knows that, too.

She gives him this little grin and they turn the corner. “You’re just not used to seeing me in actual clothes.” Harry clears his throat, because she just made it sound like… “All that workout and tennis stuff is so basic.”

He gives her a look. She knows exactly what she’s doing, doesn’t she? 

“Yeah,” he tells her quietly. “You really look awful in it.”

Allie laughs out loud and then her cheeks colour and he’s really, really getting used to how much he likes that. And he knows, also, that he’s giving himself away here. Asking her for a drink, looking at her like he is, telling her he likes the way she looks even when she’s not wearing tight jeans like she is right now. But that shouldn’t be a secret by this point. Hell, he almost couldn’t stop staring when she was in that dress a few weeks ago. 

He pulls the door open for her once they get to this pub, and she waves to the bartender and leads Harry to a high top near the back with a good view of the whole place. He sits down first, and Allie moves her chair so it’s closer to him, rather than across from him. Interesting. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair, then undoes the sleeves of his shirt and rolls them up. Allie’s watching, her chin on her fist, elbow on the table. 

“What?” he laughs. 

She shakes her head a little. “Nothing,” she replies, and then, just as he’s finished rolling his right shirt sleeve and she’s reaching for a menu, she adds, “You’re attractive.”

It surprises him to hear her saying it out loud, honestly. He’d sort of thought he’d be the one making any and all moves. It throws him off a little that he’s not, but he doesn’t hate it. Not even a little bit.

“Am I?” he asks, and looks at her as he loosens the knot of his tie. Allie just lets out a breath and tilts her head like he’s being an asshole about it. Which he is. He likes that her reaction is to kind of call him on it. 

And he expects her to do that more, but what she does instead is sort of lean towards him a little more and says, “I know you’ve noticed me looking.”

And like. Fuck. Yeah. He has. But…

“I’ve been looking at you, too.”

She moves towards him, leaning right over the table and almost fully into his space. It makes him a little nervous, if he’s being honest. But he doesn’t back down, because he likes where this is going, okay?

“How do you think I know you’ve noticed?”

They’re talking in fucking circles, but he mostly just wants her, which he’s about to say like...They could just leave right now before ordering. 

But then the server is there, and Allie’s saying the woman’s name because apparently they know each other or she’s a regular, or something. She orders them each one of the drink specials, which is a bourbon, a scotch, and a beer for a ridiculously cheap price that he knows means there’s no priority placed on quality spirits here. 

Then she says, “Oh, shit. Do you have to drive back?” and Harry likes that her assumption is that they can just like, get drunk together in this stupid pub without worrying about it. 

“I’ve got a place here,” he tells her, and she laughs like _of course_. “Kelly’s off.”

She tells him about the shoot while they wait for their drinks, then she orders food once the server drops off three glasses for each of them. Harry’s trying not to be a snob about the shitty alcohol, but whatever. He’s sort of into it as long as Allie keeps laughing and looking at him the way she is. She orders chicken fingers and fries, which he absolutely makes fun of her for, but she says he’s hot enough that she’ll let him have fries if he wants some, and that makes him laugh, too. This is stupid. Not stupid, just _fun_. He doesn’t remember having this much fun with a woman in...honestly, maybe ever. 

She sips her bourbon first, grimaces all the way through her scotch, then takes a gulp of beer to cleanse her palate. He gets the beer down, then the bourbon, and he’s nursing the scotch. She laughs at how they went in reverse order. She says something about knowing that scotch is an acquired taste that she’s never been able to acquire no matter how hard she tries. She says she likes bourbon because her ex got her into it. Then she says she really likes beer but none of the fancy craft beer shit. She likes cheap draught and stuff other people turn their noses up at. 

Then, “That bottle of wine you gave me was incredible.” 

Harry smiles. He’d honestly forgotten about that. “It’s one of my favourites.”

She snorts, dunks a chicken finger in her hot sauce and says, “You’ve got expensive taste,” and like, he knows. He isn’t sure how to respond to that. He’s not surprised she learned the price of the bottle. He’s moderately surprised she never mentioned it again or told him she wouldn’t accept more gifts. Not that he’s tried. “Okay, what do you even _do_?”

For some reason, it makes him laugh loudly, lean back in his chair and everything. She knows where he works, and she knows his title, but yeah, the actual job description or his day to day is like...If you’re not in the industry, it’s really hard to pin down. 

“My job lives at the intersections of politics, policy, and organizational operations.”

Allie breathes out a laugh, sips her beer, narrows her eyes. “Do _you_ even know what that means?” she asks, and Harry laughs again, leans closer. 

“Basically, I make sure that policy doesn’t negatively impact any of my clients’ business. Or, leverage where policy can positively impact it.”

“So you’re like, _smart_ smart. And important.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he shrugs a shoulder and just looks at her. “Explains the suit.”

He can’t help himself. 

“You’re still thinking about the suit, huh?”

Allie tilts her head, touches her ear. He sort of wants to find out if that's like, a spot for her. By that he means, he wonders what she’d do if he put his mouth there. His hand. If he leaned over and said something into her ear, let his lips tease her skin. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be thinking about the suit for a while.” 

Harry doesn’t know how the hell to respond to that. He keeps thinking he’s got her figured out and she keeps surprising him. He doesn’t think he’s ever been around a woman who could keep him on his toes this way, and he likes it. A lot. So much that he kind of wants to drop some cash on the table and tell her to take him home. He knows for sure by now that she’s at least thought about it. That actually, she’s probably thinking about it right now.

Harry drains the last of his drink, reaches over and sets his hand on her thigh, moves it upward. Allie keeps her eyes on his the whole time. 

“We should get out of here,” he suggests, voice low, and Allie looks like she’s trying not to smile too widely. 

“Yeah?” she asks, then sets her hand on his wrist, and he worries she’s going to tell him to stop or pull his hand away, but she just flexes her fingers in a way he likes a lot, leans in closer, which pushes his hand further up her thigh. So, so fucking close to where he wants to touch her. “Why’s that?”

“Allie.” 

“I’ve been told it’s a bad idea,” she says, and he just grins at her, looks at her mouth when she raises her beer to her lips again. 

“Who’ve you been talking to?” She looks like she wants to laugh, but doesn’t answer. “I feel like we could probably decide that for ourselves, yeah?”

He honestly doesn’t know what to expect, but then she’s breathing a little harder, and she just nods, and she’s looking at his lips, but he really doesn’t want the first time he kisses her to be in a shitty pub.

She’s teasing, he thinks, when she says, “Should we split the bill?” and Harry scoffs and reaches for his wallet. 

After he’s dropped cash on the table, Allie slips her hand into his and starts walking, and he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and follows her.

… … …

It’s early, she knows, when she feels him carefully leave her bed. She watches sleepily as he heads for the bathroom, and she figures he’s got to either get to work or get home, but she sort of wishes she could just tell him to come back to bed. Because last night was...a lot. It was a lot. It was a lot of him filling her bed and her senses and making her feel fucking incredible. And it wasn't exactly late when they got in. Like, she was naked by 9:45. After, they stayed up a little talking, and he wanted to see more of her photography and she showed him some snapshots on her phone but then he insisted on seeing some of her serious work, so she grabbed her portfolio and dropped it on his lap over the covers, which had made him laugh. 

She was naked again after midnight. And then just...didn’t bother putting anything on. Now, she’s undressed in bed and it’s 6:30 and he’s stepping back into the room and reaching for his pants before he’s noticed she’s awake. Watching him put his clothes back on is honestly as hot as watching him take them off (or, in some cases, taking them off for him) and Allie doesn’t know how that works, but she doesn’t hate it.

He notices her looking just as he’s pulled his shirt on over his shoulders, and leans over, sets his hand on her cheek and presses a kiss to her forehead. It feels dangerously close to a brush off, but nothing about any of their interactions - last night or before then - makes her think this was just about getting her into bed. God, when he was inside her the second time, when it was slow and torturous and almost lazy, he’d run his thumb over her bottom lip and said she was special. And somehow didn’t make that sound like either a platitude or insincere or unoriginal. 

But he starts buttoning his shirt and Allie turns, the sheets getting all tangled up with her legs, and moves across the bed so she’s closer to him. He smiles at her when she sits up, holds the sheet to her chest because yeah, she’s trying to tempt him, but not necessarily into staying. Just into paying more attention to her, that’s all. 

Allie slides her hand up his leg, from the back of his knee, up his thigh. When she stops just below his ass, he raises a brow and looks at her like he’s either surprised or wants to know why. 

“Work?” she asks, and Harry nods. She’s absolutely teasing when she suggests, “Call in.” 

He laughs quietly, turns so he’s standing right in front of her. She likes this position. It reminds her of last night, when she’d unzipped his pants and… Yeah, when she looks up at his face, she can tell he’s thinking of it, too. 

“Stop,” he says, warning, which is entirely ineffective when he uses that particular voice. It’s the same one he used when he was telling her how badly he wanted her. So. He finishes buttoning his shirt, says something about going to his own place to shower and change before the office. Then he tucks his shirttails into his pants and zips them, closes the button. He has a belt. Somewhere in her apartment. “You look incredible like this.” 

Allie laughs, shakes her head, and there’s his hand on her face again, and then the other, and he tilts her head up to look up at him. She really, really can’t stand how much she likes this, the way he’s standing in front of her and her face is just at his stomach height and he’s looking down at her like that. It’s fucked up. She shouldn’t _like that_. But instead of it feeling like a power imbalance, the way Harry treats her like this is a little delicate, like he wants to be gentle, like he doesn’t _want_ power. Like maybe she has it all anyway.

She needs to stop thinking so hard about this when he’s standing right there. 

“Like what?” she asks, and the look he gives her...good god, he shouldn’t do that when he’s _leaving_. 

He sort of _smirks_ , which is another thing she should find off-putting but doesn’t. 

“Like you’d let me have you again right now.”

Her breath hitches. “I would.”

She watches the way his lips part, the way his tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the way his eyes get a little heavy, wanting. “A little messy. Naked. And not at all shy.” 

She smiles, gets up onto her knees and lets the sheet fall away, absolutely intent on proving his point. She drapes her arms over his shoulders and he sets his hands on her hips, palms smooth against her skin. 

“Keep going,” she says, which makes him laugh and shake his head. “Come on.” She lets one hand move down onto his chest and god, the look on his face… “If you’re leaving, at least give me something to think about when you go.”

He almost looks offended, but then gently strokes his thumbs against her hips, and...The juxtaposition is sort of making her crazy. 

“You could think about last night,” he reminds her, and that’s true, but…

She scrapes her teeth over the edge of her bottom lip, looks downward a little, and feels stupidly vulnerable when she says, “Can I think about next time?”

He hesitates. He says, “Yeah,” but there’s a bit of space between her words and his answer, and it’s just enough to make her worry. 

He’s not doing a very good job of playing it cool - neither of them are - but she knows if he’d asked her the same question, her answer would’ve been immediate. She doesn’t like that his wasn’t. She doesn’t want to think Cassandra was right. She doesn’t want to think maybe they shouldn’t have done this, they shouldn’t be doing this. God, she’s going to be at his house later today. 

He seems to register that she’s in her head, because he sets his finger under her chin and tips her head up so she’ll look at him. 

“Think about next time,” he tells her, and then there’s this sincere, soft little smile on his lips, and he kisses her gently, slowly. “But I might hold you to being really, really specific when I ask you what you want.”

She moans. _Fuck_. Harry chuckles, brushes his lips against hers again, and then she flops back onto her bed and he’s reaching for his tie, and…

He stops moving, tilts his head as he looks at her, lying naked on her pale grey sheets. It’s the first time she’s really thought he doesn’t want to leave. She likes it, so she just rests her hand on her stomach and watches him. 

He’s draping his tie around his neck and just starting the knot when she says, “I’ll see you tonight anyway.” 

He freezes, gives her a look like he _forgot_. But then he just continues on with his tie and Allie tugs the sheet back over her. “Can’t say I hate the idea of seeing you twice in one day.” 

She still thinks he’s thinking too hard, but she also doesn’t know if she can ask him about that, plus he really does seem intent on leaving and she understands that, too. She’s got her own busy day of editing photos from yesterday’s shoot, and then two lessons later in the afternoon. It’s not like she’ll be sitting around pining after him, or whatever. Will she be thinking about him? Absolutely. Pining? No. And thinking about him daily isn’t even new, if she’s being honest with herself. 

“Come lock the door behind me,” he tells her, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

Allie gets up, and he’s watching her do that, too. Watching her grab her robe and wrap it around herself, watching her tug her hair from the back. She grabs his hand because she wants to, and then they walk to the door. Harry kisses her soundly when his hand’s on the door knob, and then his thumb traces the shell of her ear, which...God, when he’d told her last night he noticed this thing she does, that was after he’d touched her there and it had made her arch towards him. He’s _really_ been paying attention. Now, he just looks pleased with himself to have found one of her spots, or something. And, she thinks, that it’s a place that seems so innocent he can do it whenever he wants and know it makes her crazy. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says, and Harry nods, kisses the corner of her mouth again, and then when she locks the door behind him, she leans against it and hopes this weird but good but _weird_ feeling she has in the pit of her stomach goes away. 

… … …

He can’t get her off his mind. Which he’s realizing isn’t exactly new. It’s not that he’s thinking of her more, he’s just thinking of her differently. And he’d really love to say he’s just thinking about her body, and her mouth, and her beneath him, and her gasp in his ear. There’s some of that. God, of course there is. She’s fucking incredible. And they’re _good_ together. _So_ good. It’s kind of throwing him off, because he wasn’t expecting it. Not that he thought it’d be bad or anything less than enjoyable. But he sort of can’t fucking believe how hot last night was. How amazing it felt. And how easy it was just talking to her. And it’s not that he’s particularly surprised, because it’s not as though they’ve ever had any trouble with it. But even after they’d slept together, when they were just in her bed talking, it felt similar to how it was at the bar. Just quieter. The same sort of flirting, but something gentle, too. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that. 

And he’s all in his head about it, because waking up with her this morning was great, and he’d like to do that again, but then he was hit with a wave of guilt and a lot of feelings. Like how he’s done the same thing his dad used to do. And it’s different, because Harry’s not fucking _married_ , but it still makes him think about the power dynamics and the fact that he’s literally paying her for a service and now they’ve slept together. And he knows she wanted it. That was really, really clear. And it’s still clear. God, this morning…

He doesn’t want to take advantage of the situation, of her, and he doesn’t want to fucking be like his dad. And instead of dropping all that on her this morning and not having the time or ability to stay and talk about it, he worries what he did instead was somehow the opposite of what he wanted. Like, he just wants to tell her he really enjoys her company and does want to get to know her better. But he thinks he was being distant and worries she’ll think he was just looking for a hookup. 

He hopes he hasn’t fucked it up, all because he has his own shit to work through that he didn’t want to burden her with. 

And yes, he absolutely forgot about like, days and times and the fact she’ll be at his house later for Sloan’s lesson. He’s glad he’ll see Allie, because since like, day one of knowing her, he’s been glad to see her. That should be proof enough that he’s not the same brand of sleazeball his dad was. But…

Late in the afternoon, he gets called into a meeting with one of the partners who wants his opinion on the work some think tank is doing. It’s interesting stuff and he’s glad he’s in the office so he can be part of the conversation, but he’s also watching the clock. He knows Becca can stay and he knows Allie will be there, but he’s still got to be home at a set time and he really doesn’t want to keep anyone waiting. But he also knows he’s gotta take his opportunities at work when he can get them. Not that anyone could ever possibly say he’s not working his ass off for this firm, or that he isn’t really fucking good at what he does. But he does have a bit of a fear that because he works remotely he’s missing out on opportunities for growth, or something. Not that he could honestly handle more responsibility right now, not while Sloan’s so young. 

He needs to get the fuck out of his own head today.

Finally at 4:30, when he thinks they’re mostly wrapping up, he says he’s got to go and offers to set up a call tomorrow through the partner’s assistant so they can continue discussing. It goes over fine and Harry’s probably worried for nothing. 

Traffic is a disaster leaving the city, which he knew it’d be because it always is. He texts Becca and Allie both to let them know he’s on the way. Becca responds but Allie doesn’t. He wonders if she’s driving, too. She should be there soon. Kelly calls him as he’s driving and says her shift has been extended because one of her patients is having complications, and so Harry’s feeling even more pressure to get the hell home. She also tells him Sloan’s missed him, and asked if she could stay up tonight a little later and Kelly’d told her that was up to him. He’s into it but he also laughs because he knows Sloan’s always tired after her lessons, so she’ll probably just fall asleep on the couch at her regular bedtime. But that’s fine. 

By the time he’s pulling into the garage, Allie and Sloan are walking back to the house. Becca’s car and the one Allie drove are both in the drive, and he won’t lie, he takes a few steadying breaths after he’s cut the engine. He hasn’t been dreading seeing Allie. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been really looking forward to it. Because...god, he’s a little crazy about her. But that doesn’t make this less fucked up, really. He’s gotta act like he didn’t spend last night in her bed. He doesn’t doubt in the slightest that Allie is professional enough to do the same. 

He does know, though, that he’s not going to want her to go. He’s going to want to keep talking to her. There’s a lot he wants to say. God, he thinks he owes her an explanation for how he was acting this morning. Maybe he doesn’t, actually, but he still wants to talk to her. He likes talking to her. This isn’t like other women he’s slept with who he didn’t really mind not having deep conversations with. 

Sloan runs to him as soon as he walks through the door, shouting, “Daddy!” and wrapping her arms around his legs before he can set his bag down. He loves it, kneels down and kisses her forehead, asks how her lesson was. 

She’s telling him all about it as they walk into the kitchen, and Becca and Allie are both there, chatting, and Allie’s taking a long drink of water. There’s sweat glowing on her skin and her face is all pink, and yeah, now he knows that same redness on her chest happens when they’re in bed, too, and…

Allie gives him this little smile, and _fuck_ , he likes the look of her. 

Becca says something about there being some pasta sauce in the fridge he just has to warm up for dinner, and asks Eden to pack up her things because they have to get home. He’s really grateful for Becca - she’s always doing this kind of thing without him asking her to, and he appreciates it, and he tells her so. She says goodbye to Allie, then Sloan, and then Eden’s ready and they’re heading out, and Harry’s left alone in his house with his daughter and Allie, and like…

Look, one of the things he can’t get out of his mind, no matter how much he tries, is the idea that he wishes she could _stay_.

“Sloan tells me you got a racquet,” Allie says, breaking the silence, and Harry just grins. Yeah, he hadn’t told her that. “And that you got tired really fast.”

He barks out a laugh, looks at his kid, who’s smiling up at him but doesn’t know why this is funny, he thinks. 

“It’s hot out,” he says, and then meets Allie’s eyes when he adds, “I’m out of shape.”

She lets out this incredulous sound, tilts her head at him, and yeah, he’s absolutely referring to the fact that they’ve now seen each other naked, and he’s maybe not a gym rat, but he keeps himself at a decent fitness level. And she knows that now, without any doubt. And he knows she knows, because last night she’d sat on top of him and looked down at him and told him some generally kind and flattering things about his body that he’s definitely being a little smug about.

When she steps out from behind the counter and he gets a full look at her, she’s wearing this blue tennis skirt and her white top doesn’t quite meet it at the waist. There’s a strip of skin there she’s not shy about, and he’s sort of itching to move closer, to let his fingers explore it. He’s obviously not going to do that. 

No, he does something much stupider instead. 

“You wanna stay for dinner?”

She freezes, then gives him this look like _that’s sweet, but we can’t do that_. And then Sloan’s excited about it and he realizes how fucked up it was to do this at all, let alone in front of his kid. Maybe he was just grasping at straws, looking for a way to tell Allie without doing it directly that he wants to spend more time with her. That he doesn’t want to just have sex with her. That this doesn’t have to end at them hooking up once.

He notices that she’s very deliberately talking to Sloan and not him when she says, “I can’t, kiddo. I’ve got to get back to the city,” but also notices the way her eyes flick up to his and linger there, too. “But um. Maybe another time?”

Harry gives her a lopsided grin. Sloan asks, “Saturday?”

Allie laughs, empties the rest of her glass and places it in the dishwasher. “I have a date with my sister on Saturday.” Then she’s looking at him and Sloan, and she makes this little face like they’re teaming up on her, or something, and Harry slips his hand into his pocket. “We’ll figure it out.”

Yeah, Harry doesn’t know if she’s talking about the dinner, or _this_ , or what. Maybe both. All. God, he needs to find a way to be less intense about this.

Is it selfish to want time alone with Allie before she leaves? Yes. Is he okay with that, under the circumstances? Also yes. 

“Say bye to Allie, then go change and wash up,” he tells Sloan. She does as she’s told, heading for the stairs after hugging Allie and saying she’ll see her next lesson. Allie’s giving Harry a look like he’s making this hard for her, but he’s not doing anything right now other than standing here in front of her wearing a navy blue suit. So maybe she just thinks he’s attractive, or something. “Walk you out?” 

She nods, moves towards him, and instead of turning with her to head to the door, he does what he’d wanted, reaches out and slides a hand across her stomach, his fingers catching skin. The breath she lets out makes him sort of insane, and they’re just standing there, until he tugs her a little and then she’s right in front of him, his hand on her hip, thumb tucked just under the fabric of her top. 

“Allie.”

“Harry.”

He laughs, knowing she’s teasing him a little, maybe, because no, he doesn’t know what to say, okay? There’s a lot, but she has to go, and Sloan will be just a few minutes, and…

“I’ll text you later?” he asks, and Allie gets this pretty, pleased little smile on her face. She also sets her hand on his jaw, leans up to kiss him quickly, then searches his face to make sure it was okay, or something. And like, he touched her the first opportunity he got, so he isn’t sure how she could be worried. 

“You can call.”

He glances down, sees where his hand is, notices how different their attire is from one anothers’, notices how her body’s angled towards his like she might just want to lean against him, put her arms over his shoulders like she did this morning. 

“Okay.”

“Are you?” she asks, and his brow furrows. She worries her teeth over her lip. “Okay?”

Shit. So she was totally onto him. Or at least she knew something was up this morning and that he was acting like it. He feels sort of shitty for not hiding it better. He hopes she hasn’t been thinking all day, worrying that he’s done the thing he really didn’t want her to think he’d done. 

“Yeah,” he tells her. Then, wanting to be honest, adds, “Just working through some things.” Yeah, he can tell that doesn’t clarify anything for her, but they can’t get into it right now, either. “You were on my mind all day. Driving me fucking wild.”

And _there’s_ that look again. The one from last night and from this morning. He doesn’t even know what she’s really thinking when she gets this expression on her face, but he knows that every time he’s seen it, he’s liked what’s come next. 

“Same.” He gets the impression that’s not what she wanted to say. He gets the impression she’s holding back a little. Maybe a lot. They hear Sloan upstairs and move away from one another at the same time. “Call me.”

“I will,” he promises. 

He walks her to the door, even though she teases him a little for it. When he leans over, his hand on her arm and his lips against her cheek, she draws in a breath and then her eyes are kind of doing a thing he likes too much when he pulls away. 

… … …

She’s dying to talk to Cassandra about this. About the fact that she took Harry home, and that they’ve been talking on the phone every night since, like they’re high schoolers in the 90s, or something. About the fact that this man has actually told her about his feelings, shared with her why he was a little distant. And that he apologized for making it seem like he regretted it, or for hurting her feelings if her feelings had been hurt that morning. 

And god, that first night on the phone, when he’d opened up about his dad and that ‘complicated relationship’ he’d alluded to weeks ago, Allie sort of couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not because it’s hard to believe, but because he felt comfortable sharing and he was so honest with her. Because he seems to care about her feelings enough to want to make it very, very clear that this isn’t some fucked up power play or him doing it just because he knows he can. 

Then the next night, both of them putting on this wildlife show and learning more about each other as this thing played in the background. Him asking about her sister, her asking about his. Him asking about her parents, her asking about his mom. Him asking even more about her photography. Him asking when her birthday is, her favourite restaurant, what the perfume is she wears. Him asking what she was wearing.

And then, god, him this afternoon during Sloan’s lesson, wearing a white tee shirt and navy shorts, a matching Nike cap on to shield his face from the sun. And then the look he’d given her when Kelly’d shown up because, she thinks, it meant they couldn’t even sneak a discussion or a touch or two out of Sloan’s view. 

This is messy. Or it has the potential to be. 

She knows Cassandra is going to frown on this no matter what. So she at least waits until they’re through their dinner and a couple glasses of wine before she says anything. 

She could probably be more delicate about it. 

Cassandra’s just taken a sip of wine when Allie decides this is her moment. 

“So, instead of not sleeping with the dad of one of my students, I absolutely slept with the dad of one of my students.”

Cassandra sputters, a bit of white wine dribbling down her chin. She stares at Allie and also catches the wine with her napkin, and Allie grimaces and lifts her shoulders almost up to her ears, because _oops_?

“ _Allie_.” Yeah, there’s the tone she was dreading. “You’re serious.”

Allie just tries to give a cute smile, but her sister is staring at her like she’s disappointed. Probably because she doesn’t know the full story. Maybe if she provides context, that’ll help. 

(She says, knowing fully that Cassandra won’t even care that he’s _single_ and that the judgment here is because of the fucked up dynamic.) 

“It’s not like he’s married,” she says, and sure enough, Cassandra tilts her head like that doesn’t matter, but also maybe a little like she’d assumed Allie hadn’t helped some dude commit adultery. But it still feels like an important thing to point out. It’s important to Allie, anyway.

“How _old_ is he?” 

“Early to mid 50s,” Allie says, and then immediately realizes now is not the time to be a jackass. Cassandra’s face is sort of priceless, though. “That was a _joke_. He’s our age.”

Cassandra squints like this makes no sense. “So he’s some teen dad who…”

Allie, feeling immediately and a little surprisingly defensive of him, cuts her sister off. “Don’t be so judgmental. It’s not like that. He wasn’t a teen dad.” Cassandra seems to sense the tone and just takes a breath, looks at Allie with her lips pursed. “They were young, but he wasn’t like, 15. His daughter’s five.” Cassandra sighs. Allie just… “I know what this looks like. I just really like him.”

Her sister stares, seeming to actually be considering what she wants to say next, which is rare. No, that’s not fair. Cassandra doesn’t usually have to wait or take time to think through her words, because she’s so smart and so good with words in the first place that usually what she comes out with is thoughtful and intelligent and makes sense. When she takes time, it honestly almost always means that she’s trying to package something up in a way that won’t be hurtful. And she usually fails, because the thing is typically just hurtful no matter how it’s said. 

So when she asks, “And does he really like you?” Allie’s already on edge, and her jaw twitches and she really doesn’t appreciate the insinuation that Harry might only be out for one thing and now that he’s got it, he’s done. 

And, really, maybe what Allie’s reacting to is the idea that she’d even _say anything_ to Cassandra if that were the case. Like, why would she bring it up, get all this fucking judgment, and then have to admit she’s just been some sort of conquest for him? It makes literally no sense and it’s insulting as fuck. 

Instead of saying any of that, she says, “You’re being an asshole,” and Cassandra closes her eyes a moment, then looks up at the ceiling. Maybe Allie shouldn’t have done this in public. The couple at the next table is definitely eavesdropping; she can tell. “I’m telling you because this feels like a big deal, and I sort of expected you to understand that.”

“You have feelings for him,” Cassandra confirms, and then, Allie likes that she adds, “You have feelings for each other.”

Allie nods, appreciating that they’ve gotten to this point, even if it is later in the conversation than she would’ve hoped. Like, she literally just said she likes him. She isn’t sure why it took Cassandra this long to take that seriously.

“Yeah,” she sort of whispers, and then can’t help smiling, thinking of earlier today in the heat when he’d gone inside to refill her bottle with ice water, pressed it against her palm and told her, a worried look on his face, to drink. 

Cassandra leans closer, and Allie just looks at her. “It’s just been so long since you were in a relationship.” Yeah, that sounds almost like an insult, too, but Allie’s going to wait for the rest before getting pissed. “It feels like you could’ve picked someone a little easier.” 

Okay, that’s honestly a fair point. 

“Yeah,” she admits, then reaches for her wine glass and shrugs a shoulder. “And it’s early, but this doesn’t feel _hard_ , really. It just feels...intense. Not in a bad way. Like...intense because it feels like there’s a lot of potential and I want to see where it goes.”

Cassandra smiles for the first time since Allie brought this up, but she tries to hide it, too. Then she says, “That sounds nice,” and Allie can tell she means it. 

“I wouldn’t jeopardize things for nothing.” 

It’s important that she says it out loud. She’s said it to Harry, too. It was the other night when they were talking and he was telling her about his feelings about his dad and the power imbalances inherent with her being in his employ. It had felt important to let him know, to really, really remind him, that she has a ton of agency here and she’s not doing anything she doesn’t want to do. She thinks she’ll remind him of that again, any time the conversation comes up. She doesn’t want him to doubt it, for one thing. She also just thinks the way you remove the power imbalance is to name it and talk about how it shows up. 

Honestly, she feels more evenly matched with Harry than she has any of her past boyfriends. She’s still thinking through what that means or says. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Cassandra says, and Allie smiles softly at her sister across the table. 

“I don’t want that, either.”

Because it’s true, and because she thinks it means something to say it out loud. If she really thought she was going to get hurt by this, she wouldn’t have started it in the first place. It’s felt different with Harry all along, even before she pulled him from the corner pub and directly into her bed. 

She texts him after dinner, when she’s in an Uber going home and she’s a little tipsy from the wine. 

She types three things before finally sending anything. 

Draft 1: _’When can I see you again?’_

Draft 2: _’I wish you could come over.’_

Draft 3: _’What are you doing right now?’_

What she settles on is direct, to the point, and somehow manages to be a summary of all three of the things she’s deleted. 

_’I want you.’_

He replies minutes later when she’s stepping out onto the sidewalk, and she smiles to herself as she reads his reply, waits until she’s inside her apartment and has poured herself a glass of water before she replies. She’s in this black cotton dress, her sandals still on and her hip leaning against the counter. She hasn’t even turned any lights on. She likes this, in the total quiet of her place, having this silly flirtation with him.

When she FaceTimes him, he’s sitting out on his back deck with a glass of water in his hand, all these pretty lights making him look kind of ridiculously attractive. He grins when she tells him so. He tells her she looks hot when she’s buzzed. Allie takes a deep breath and then walks through the apartment to her bedroom, sits back against the pillows. Harry tilts his head like he’s a little intrigued as to why she chose this spot. 

She’s not going to spell it out for him. 

… … …

Tuesday, he messages her to tell her he won’t be there for Sloan’s lesson. He considers leaving it at that and waiting until she responds to tell her he’s in the city for the night, but that feels like a jerk move, so he tells her off the bat that he’s in New York until Thursday. Allie doesn’t reply right away, which is fine, of course. And part of him wishes he could’ve given her more notice, but he was called in for meetings and he’s spent half his fucking day trying to organize childcare. Which is typical, but never not stressful. Becca can stay tonight, and Kelly’s got overnight Wednesday until Thursday, barring some emergency. 

Then, despite him really not ever wanting to call his mom for help, she’s coming in to cover off when Kelly has to go to work and staying until he gets in Thursday evening. She’s also the one Kelly’s gonna call if she gets called in early. Harry’s trying not to be nervous about it. Look, his mom’s great with Sloan, but she’s also responsible for some of the shit he’s had to work through in therapy. When Sloan was little, he had a seriously frank conversation about what she was and wasn’t allowed to do with his kid, and what she was and wasn’t allowed to comment on. She’s slipped up a couple times and the only reason he didn’t follow through on his promise to cut her off from Sloan’s life is that Kelly convinced him not to. That it’s important that Sloan have a relationship with her grandmother. 

Anyway, he’s fucking anxious. 

Allie texts him two hours later. It’s just as she’s probably leaving to go to his place.

She sends, _’Sorry I won’t see you til Saturday.’_

And then, immediately after, _’That was a joke. Drink later?’_

Harry laughs, despite thinking it was kind of a shitty joke, and tells her he’ll text her after his last meeting and find a place for them. 

She says, _’Can’t we just do yours?’_

So yeah. They’re on the same page about spending some time alone, and he hadn’t wanted to just assume it, had wanted to make sure she’d be comfortable with anything he suggested. 

Something about knowing he has plans with her means he doesn’t spend his entire day thinking about her. He isn’t sure how that actually works, but he’s glad for the ability to focus and show up with clients the way he does, the way they’ve come to expect. Not that he’s been slipping in his work or acting any different in front of his colleagues or clients. He just knows he’s on his game, and he feels good about that. 

He texts when he gets home, which he said he’d do. They’d figured the timing would work out and she’d be back and able to come over for dinner. He doesn’t at all feel like cooking, nor does he actually keep a ton of food here, so he tries to think of where he can suggest they order from. 

Allie arrives and he buzzes her up, and for some reason, he wasn’t expecting her to come straight from her lessons. She’s wearing these short black shorts and a white crop top he can see her sports bra through, and he’ll admit to staring at her. She’d probably also admit to liking it. 

He took his suit jacket off when he got home, now has his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie off, shirt unbuttoned a little.

“You look so good,” she says, a little breathy, after walking in and dropping her stuff. 

Then, when they’re in his kitchen and he’s asking what she wants to drink, she stops him, her hand on his wrist, and turns him around. Then she slides her hand up his chest, the other on his waist, and like… He isn’t sure he’s ever been with a woman who just does this, who touches him how she wants to, whenever she wants to. It’s stupid, but it feels important, somehow.

“What?” he asks, laughing quietly, looking down at her face. His hands find her hips and she smiles a bit at the contact. 

“Accept my compliment.” He chuckles, looks at her lips, and wonders why he didn’t kiss her at the door. Allie clocks it. “Yeah. And kiss me, too.”

She’s smiling when he presses his lips to hers. Then her hand is on the back of his neck and she moves closer, presses all up against him. Fuck, that feels good. When she pulls back, it’s just a little, but her back arches against his hands and she’s looking way too pleased with herself. Which looks really hot on her. He saw it last week, too, when they were in bed and she got him to let out a curse with just the way she’d dragged her fingers gently down his neck. So…

“It’s like a bachelor pad in here,” she says, sort of teasing, and Harry lets go of her as he laughs, turns to look out at the living room. She’s kind of right, maybe. It’s decorated totally differently from his house. “I like it. Let’s go sit down.” 

She’s being a little bossy, but Harry’s way more into it than he thought he’d be. He offers her a drink again, and she just asks for some water, so he pours two glasses and carries them to the living room. She’s got one leg pulled up onto the sofa, her shorts riding up temptingly, and she leans her elbow on the back of the sofa and smiles at him.

He really doesn’t know why he’s a little nervous. 

“You match,” she tells him, and he’s confused, until he realizes she’s talking about the decor. It’s all black and white and this brown leather sofa and some brass accents. He’s wearing black suit pants and a white shirt. So, sure. “I’m honestly tempted to take your picture.”

“Go for it,” he says, grinning, and Allie rolls her eyes at him and reaches out, puts her hand on his shoulder. Then she looks downward, her hair falling a little over her shoulder. 

“Why didn’t you just invite me here earlier? Why did you suggest somewhere else?”

Shit. He doesn’t...He knows why, but he didn’t think she’d think anything of it. 

“I wanna make sure you know the ball’s in your court,” he says, and feels a little stupid for the sports metaphor, but she just smiles and doesn’t even seem to notice it, so that’s good. “Really just gonna follow your lead. All this is up to you.”

It’s a lot. He knows him saying it is a lot. He knows they haven’t defined anything - it’s only been a fucking week, okay? - and they don’t have to yet, but he doesn’t want her to feel any sort of pressure or weirdness. If she wants to stop anything, they’ll stop it. She doesn’t owe him anything.

But the look on her face isn’t super pleased. Actually, she looks kind of pissed. Or confused, or…

“That’s not fair,” she says, and he freezes, looking at her. “To you, I mean.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s…”

She shakes her head like he doesn’t get it, like he’s being a martyr, or something. She moves closer to him, turns her body a bit so they’re not looking at each other in profile. She still has her hand on his shoulder, and her knee pressing against his. He’s still trying not to be distracted by her thighs. God, it feels like fucking weeks that that’s been true. 

“I’m really not interested in being the only one who gets to say what they want,” she tells him, and it sounds serious. 

He thinks about it for a second, and god, maybe she’s totally right. He intended to make sure they were on an even keel and instead of doing that, he did a shitty thing where he made it seem like he needs to pass over _his_ power instead of just trusting that she’ll use _hers_. He thought he was better at this. He thought he would be. He’s trying so hard. The thing about Allie is he thinks she can see the trying, and he thinks she appreciates the trying, and that the trying means more, sometimes, than getting everything totally right. 

And again, it’s been a fucking week, and if he could stop himself from overthinking absolutely everything all the time, he’d love that for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, and Allie gives him a soft little smile he thinks is fucking gorgeous. “I don’t know what I'm doing most of the time.” 

She laughs, this pretty sound that makes him smile, and then leans in for a quick kiss. “Me neither. But I feel like it’ll be better if we keep talking these things through together.”

He smirks at her, finally reaches over and slides his hand up her thigh. He thinks he might be a little obsessed. “How’d you get so smart?”

Yeah, he’s looking at her lips. She knows it, parts them slightly, plays with the collar of his shirt. 

“Hey,” she says gently. He meets her eyes and that soft look is back. “I know this is...It has the potential to be kind of weird and messy. We can take it slow.” He nods. She’s honestly...How is she so much better at this than he is? “I’ve really liked getting to know you this week. I wanna keep doing that.”

“Me too.” It’s true. She’s right; he feels like he’s learned more about her in the last week than he learned about her in all the weeks prior. “I know it’s sort of fucked, but we can keep doing this, too, when I’m in the city.”

“Having sex?” she asks, grinning like she’s teasing. 

But… “Yeah,” he answers, sly like he thinks she’ll like. She laughs out loud. “But I just mean also like...dates.”

She presses her lips together, but he thinks that’s just because she wants to smile. “Dates,” she repeats, whispering, and then she’s definitely blushing, so he’s thinking she’s into it. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually _dated_ someone before. It sounds...really nice.” 

Harry kisses her gently, fingertips under her chin. “Wanna go to dinner?”

She shakes her head. “Let’s order in and watch a movie.” Harry nods at her, reaches for his phone, and before he even has an app open, she’s saying, “And we can make out until the food gets here,” like it’s some kind of hot little secret. He glances over at her and she moves her hand into his hair, and like… “What?”

Harry breathes out a laugh and says, “I’m not sure the innocent act works on you, Allie.”

Her brow goes up, and she gets this _look_ on her face, and she says, “Wanna bet?” and he knows he’s fucking done for.

… … …

A few Saturdays later, she shows up in all white - just one of her old dresses - because she’s going to the club to play with Helena, and she needs to abide by club rules.

She can tell by the way Harry looks her up and down as he follows Sloan out of the house and crosses the driveway that he appreciates the attire. It’s absolutely stupid to be as flattered as she is. She knows he thinks she’s attractive. She knows he’s liked her in just about everything he’s ever seen her in. But she also maybe understands why he’d like the look of her in this dress with the slightly ruffled skirt. It makes her legs look good. She certainly knows how he feels about her legs. He’s made that abundantly clear over the last month.

Sloan gives her a hug, as Sloan usually does at this point and Allie doesn’t mind in the slightest. She’s probably not supposed to have favourite students, but here she is anyway, her hand between Sloan’s shoulder blades as they step towards the court, Allie’s bag slung over her shoulder. Harry sits down on the bench like usual as Allie pulls her racquet out. She’s got two extras today, because she is playing later. Harry seems to notice. 

“I’m meeting Helena after. Hence the all white and game gear.” 

“Different shoes, too?”

She sort of grins at him, and thinks it’s dumb to be flattered he’s noticed. “The club has clay.”

He squints. “I don’t know why I always forget you were like, _good_.”

She raises her brow, adjusts the strings of her racquet. “Are you suggesting I’m not still good?”

He leans back on the bench, grins. “I mean, I haven’t seen you actually play.”

Allie passes her racquet to him, reaches for her other one, her good one; the one she plays with. She takes a few steps backwards on the court, a ball in her hand and tucking the other up under her shorts beneath her dress. He watches that with some interest. 

“Rally?”

“No,” he laughs, but she tilts her head, and Sloan has her own racquet and she’s just watching her dad. “No way.”

“Come on!” Allie knows he’s tempted. She can tell. He finally stands, takes a breath, and Sloan’s laughing and hopping alongside him to the other end of the court. He tells her to go sit on the bench so she doesn’t get hurt. 

Allie wonders if he knew she wasn’t going to take it easy on him. 

He bends his knees, shifting his weight back and forth a few times. He looks good. So good. Too good. But she won’t be distracted. 

Allie just...She’s known since she was a kid that her serve is amazing. It’s one of the reasons she got as far as she did, honestly. She isn’t perfect and in her quest for power made her prone to foot faults, but still. The number of aces on her scorecards is pretty good proof that her serve is her strength. 

So when she doesn’t hold back, gives a proper serve like she would in a game, and the ball passes him with him barely having a chance to move at all, he stands upright, lets his racquet hang by his side, and gives her a baleful look as she laughs. He seems unamused but she doesn’t know why. That was hilarious. 

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry,” she says, reaches under her skirt for the other ball. “I’ll go easy.”

“No,” he says, sort of defiant, very much hot. He gets ready at the baseline again. “Let’s go.”

He’s definitely serious. She thinks it’d be surprising if he returned her serve, but if he’s asking for it, it’s what she’s going to do. 

And she’ll admit, he does well. He misses twice, gently hits the balls back to her so she can serve again. She’s super aware that this is Sloan’s time, but she can stay a few minutes later. She doesn’t mind. He almost looks surprised when he returns a serve, but recovers easily and is ready when she hits it back. She tries to stay focused on the ball and not how hot he looks concentrating. 

He hits a good backhand and the teacher in her can’t help shouting back, “Nice!” before hitting it back. He seems sort of happy at the compliment. She was being genuine. 

They rally a bit and she sort of wants to wrap up and also to win, so she comes up close to the net, jumps and flicks her wrist just right and hits the ball so it lands at least 7 feet in front of him. 

She waits at the net and he walks up, and when she holds out her hand for him, he smirks at her and rather than shaking her hand, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs a little so their shoulders are pressed together. It’s sexy, and so is the look he’s giving her. 

“That was fun,” she says, and he nods, then Allie waves Sloan over. “Sorry I’m so competitive.”

He laughs, and she’s glad he’s not bothered. She didn’t think he would be, but honestly with dudes there’s always the chance. “I was literally trying to kick your ass the whole time. You’re just better than me.”

Allie laughs loudly and pushes him towards the bench. He chuckles a little as he leans away. Sloan says, “Good job, Daddy,” and Allie’s heart kind of melts when he leans down and kisses his daughter’s hair and says, “Thanks,” and tells her to have fun. 

Allie sets her hand on Sloan’s back and when the girl asks to work on her serve it definitely deviates from Allie’s plan, but whatever. It doesn’t really matter. He pays as much as he usually does, which is kind of a lot. More than the other parents of kids she teaches, if they even bother to stick around and don’t just leave them alone. He’s on his phone a bit, but she doesn’t care. Honestly, she’s told him he doesn’t have to stay if he doesn’t want to. But he’s said he wants to. 

He’s made fun of her for wearing sweatbands on her wrists before, but it’s literally breaking 100 degrees today, and at the end of the lesson she’s sweaty even though she’s been wiping it away this whole time. She tells Sloan she needs to go drink some more water, and when she’s next to Harry, her little purple water bottle in her hand, she asks him if she can go swimming. He tells her to go put her suit on. 

Allie’s a little jealous, honestly. Swimming sounds freaking incredible, and though she can just see one little corner of the pool from here, the water looks really damn inviting. 

Harry’s sitting there with his elbows on his knees, his hand right there next to her leg. She finishes her sip of water and then sort of leans forward so her knee is touching his hand, and he looks up at her darkly, then turns his hand just so, so his fingertips slide along the inside of her knee until he moves his hand just barely up her thigh. She’s just looking down at him, and god, she really, really fucking wants him. Maybe even more than the pool.

“You could come back later,” he says easily, and Allie takes a deep breath. He sort of grins at her, like he knows it’s really tempting. It’s _so_ tempting. “After she’s in bed.”

Allie shakes her head. As much as she’d like to, it’s a bad idea. Mostly because she has no clothes and also a rented car she’ll be charged a penalty on if she’s not back during her time window. He looks a little disappointed, but also like he thinks he can convince her to agree. 

“I can’t,” she says out loud, thinking it’ll help. What it does is actually make him move his hand further up the inside of her thigh. She laughs softly, pulls her leg away. “You’re not that persuasive.”

He tilts his head like she shouldn’t have said that, and she thinks she agrees immediately. 

And the fact that he just says, “I’m pretty sure I am,” almost has her agreeing to stay, and fuck, that’s so predictable and heavy and she just…

Wants him. She just wants him. 

“Another time.”

“You keep saying that,” he answers quickly, and then looks almost embarrassed, or at least like he wishes he’d thought it through more. 

So she pauses a moment, tries to think about what she’s reacting to and what he is. She gets wanting to be around her. She wants to be around him, too. Really quite badly. In a perfect world...No, let’s be honest. In a world in which he didn’t have a child, things would be really different. Like, she has an hour before she has to meet Helena and she could drag him inside and tell him to show her his bedroom. She’d tell him she has to return the car, but he could follow her to the city and to her house. Or bring her back here. There’re so many ways this could go. Not that she thinks him having a child makes this impossible, it’s just different. There’s no way it couldn’t be different. 

“What’s the rush?” she asks, and Harry tilts his head as he looks up at her. She wants to touch him, but won’t. 

“No rush.” He smirks, and she assumes he’s about to say something that’ll be absolutely ridiculous and also sexy. “Could go as slow as you wanted to.”

Allie rolls her eyes, looks away from him and shakes her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughs a little, stands and moves closer to her. “I hope you will.”

God, he is so ridiculous and she shouldn’t find this kind of blatant flirting and commentary as hot as she does. But she _does_ , and she’s trying not to feel badly about it. 

She moves past him to place her racquets in her bag and also put space between them. But Harry sort of follows so he’s right there at her elbow when she stands back up. Her side is pressed against his chest, her hand dangling somewhere dangerously around his hips. She likes it. She knows he knows that. 

“Will you at least call me later?”

Shouldering her bag, she steps back, wants to remind him she’s not solely interested in sex. She’s very much interested in sex. Very much. But not solely. And it feels important to bring them back to this being something more than that. 

“Yeah. We can watch something together?” she asks. Harry gives her a genuine smile, nods and reaches over, flicks at her ponytail. 

“That sounds nice. 9:00?”

She says, “It’s a date,” to be cute. They’ve been doing dates any time he’s in the city, but also a lot of phone dates. She really likes it.

And just as she’s thinking she might be able to get away with kissing him, Sloan’s running back towards them - Allie’s honestly wondering if the girl ever _walks_ anywhere - with her little blue bathing suit on. It’s got shiny silver stars on it. It’s really cute. 

“See ya Tuesday, kid,” Allie says, holding up her hand for a high five, which Sloan obliges. “Good job today.”

“Bye, Allie,” she says cutely, and then starts tugging Harry off towards the pool. He’s got his eyes locked with Allie’s. 

“Bye, Allie,” he echoes, and she knows he does it the same way Sloan did just to be cute. 

So she says, “Good job today,” because she can be cute, too. 

Later, when he asks her how her match with Helena went and she downplays it because she doesn’t want to sound like she _always_ wins (even though...most of the time she wins) he tells her playing with her was sort of hot and it made him actually like playing tennis. 

Then he throws in, “Also honestly watching your skirt fly up every time you moved was distracting as fuck, but made me want to keep playing. So there’s that.”

Allie shakes her head at him and sips her tea and asks if he’s always so direct on dates. He says yes. He asks if she likes it. She doesn’t say no. 

… … …

He needs to tell someone, or he’s gonna go crazy. He spent Thursday night in the city having dinner with Allie at this place she insisted he’d love, and then in her bed, and then she made oatmeal while he showered in the morning and she helped him button his shirt, which… It’s the first time she’s helped get him dressed rather than undressed. He’s a little in love with the way she kissed him goodbye at the door, her eyes looked all soft and pretty like there might’ve been more she wanted to say. 

It’s serious. Getting more serious by the minute, honestly. 

After Sloan’s in bed and Kelly’s had a shower, she sits down next to him on the couch and he turns to her, and she looks a little surprised, or like she knows something’s about to happen. 

“I’m seeing someone,” he says, and her face sort of lights up. And yeah, he’s really gotta be more specific before she gets too excited. “It’s Allie.”

She freezes, waits, then her jaw drops and she reaches over and punches him in the arm. “ _Allie_? Like, Allie, Allie? _That_ Allie?” 

“I think we’re talking about the same person, yeah.”

She tilts her head. “Don’t be _cute_ , Harry. How did this happen?”

“Wait,” he says, laughing softly, holding a hand up. “Wait. Let’s just...Are you okay with this?”

Kelly laughs again, loudly, and rolls her eyes. “You don’t actually care, or you would’ve mentioned it before starting something with this girl.” He goes to correct her, but she does it herself. “Woman.” He takes a breath, lets it out. “How long?”

“A while,” he answers, which is...not a great answer, but she doesn't seem to actually care for a date, or whatever. “We’re not in a rush, okay? It’s serious, but Sloan doesn’t have to know yet, obviously.”

Kelly’s just looking at him, looking like she wants to say something but isn’t sure how he’ll react. So he just waits, tries not to be impatient about it, even though he just wants this conversation to be over and everything to be okay. 

“You haven’t told me about anyone since we broke up,” she says, and like. Fuck. It’s true, yeah, but… “You clearly have feelings for her. And if I couldn’t tell that just from the fact that you actually said something, I’d be able to tell by the literally boyish look on your face.”

Oh, fuck. 

“That’s not...I’m not…” 

“Mhm. I remember that look from when we first started dating.”

Yeah, she’s having way too much fun with this. 

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t want to argue with her. He wouldn’t win. She’s just trying to embarrass him or get him to admit something he doesn’t want to, and he’ll just get frustrated. He doesn’t often lose arguments and doesn’t feel like losing one right now.

“No one else knows,” he says, and she nods. “I haven’t told anyone. Probably won’t, for a bit. But obviously you’re different.”

She waits a beat. Another. Then too long, and he’s anxious. “I’m happy for you,” she tells him, and it sounds sincere, and then she drapes her legs over his lap and says, “Tell me more about her.” 

Yeah, Harry thinks they’re gonna be okay. 

(And he feels a huge relief not having to _hide_ it all the time.) 

… … ...

The first time she stays over at his house rather than just his place in the city, they’ve been doing this for something like two months, and Kelly’s got a few days off and is taking Sloan to visit her parents’ summer house on the coast. Allie’s known this for two weeks, since Harry told her, asked if she’d want to spend a couple days with him, and yet when he picks her up outside her apartment because apparently there was no way he was going to let her take the train, she’s still nervous. 

He can tell, apparently, by the way she’s bouncing her knee up and down. 

He sets his hand on it, glances over at her as they sit in traffic trying to leave the city. She’s trying to understand why this feels so different from when she goes to his place in New York, or he comes to hers. Him coming to hers is easy to reconcile. It’s her space and her home and she’s most comfortable there. And his place in the city is like, really detached from his home where he lives most of the time. It’s clearly used pretty seldom, and there are literally no traces of Sloan there. Which makes sense. But his house, where he lives with his daughter, is like, imprinted with them as a duo - and sometimes a trio that includes Kelly. There’s no way to be in the house and not know Sloan exists and is part of it and...That’s not even a bad thing, it’s just something to note. 

Also, importantly, when Allie’s at his house, she’s there to work. Coming for another reason seems different and a little odd and she’s just trying to work through that. And when she tells Harry this, he understands it. He nods and says, “I get it. What can I do to make you comfortable?” and it’s all earnest and genuine and kind and Allie leans over in her seat to kiss him when they’re stopped at a light. 

When they get to his house, he takes her bag in one hand and her hand in his other, and leads her up the stairs and down the hallway she’s never been down. At the end, there’s a door that’s open and when they walk in, she almost wants to laugh. His bedroom is literally bigger than her apartment. There’s a sofa and two chairs, a king sized bed, a walk in closet, and an ensuite she can just barely peer into from here. He glances back at her after he’s set her bag at the foot of the bed, and he looks almost timid. She likes the decor; his wood bedframe and matching dresser and nightstands, and the pale grey walls with a dark grey accent on the wall where the bed is. The linens are all white. That bed looks _really_ inviting. 

“I hired a decorator,” he says, instead of like, anything else. She smiles at him and thinks it’s crazy he’s standing so far away when she’s finally in his room where she knows he’s wanted her for at least a couple months. 

“They did a good job.”

“I mean, I approved everything,” he says, grinning, moving towards her and reaching for her hips. 

“Mm.” She sets her hands on his shoulders. “Obviously the hardest part.”

He breathes out a little laugh, and then asks, “Are you okay?” She nods, and he leans in to kiss her. She thinks they both like - a lot - when they’re together and they don’t have to be so careful. “What do you want to do?”

Allie has...so many ideas. 

“Honestly?” she asks, and he nods, smiles at her in such a way that could legitimately make her crazy. Like, yes, his bed is _right there_ , and she wants _that_ , too - him - but… “I’ve been thinking about your swimming pool for months.”

He lets out a laugh and puts his arms around her, hand cradling the back of her head, lips right there by her temple. 

Later, as she dries off by lounging in the fading sun on one of his fancy lounge chairs, he brings her sparkling water and asks what she wants for dinner and they’ll order in. She tugs him by the strings on his swim shorts so he’ll come closer, come right down onto the chair with her. He laughs a little, tells her she’s crazy. She says she’s not hungry yet. She says she’s ready to go back upstairs. 

His bed is as comfortable as she thought it’d be. When he’s leaning over her, her thighs parting for him easily, he breathes out, gently, “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

She nods, impatient, and says, “Me too.” 

She knows Kelly knows. She knows they need to be careful about Sloan. But she thinks this is all really…

Harry kisses her softly, pulls back so he can look at her and push her hair off her forehead. She feels a little delicate. She feels like he thinks so, too. She feels like she might go crazy with how much she genuinely cares about him. How much he obviously cares about her. 

“You okay?” he asks, and she wonders how long she just got stuck in her own head. She nods. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says, and then slides her hands up his back to pull him closer. “Just thinking I’m crazy about you.” 

God, the smile on his face might make her start thinking about love. 

… … …

He finally gets Allie to stay for dinner after a lesson. And it’s less spontaneous and more planned than he would’ve liked, but it’s best this way and he knows that. It’s Sloan’s last lesson and she’s all sad about it, which makes sense because she’s literally five and this has been one of her favourite things ever. They plan that Allie will stay for dinner. Then he, Allie and Kelly decided that he’ll tell Sloan that Allie can still come around. That she’s going to still be around. 

As Allie’s leaving, she looks past him to make sure Sloan’s not looking, then grabs him by the shirt and kisses the hell out of him. 

“You’re still coming on Monday, right?” she asks, smoothing her hand over his shirt after releasing it, ridding it of wrinkles. He nods. “Good.”

“Text me when you get home?” he requests, just like he’s been doing for weeks and weeks. She nods, and just as he’s leaning in, Allie moves out of the way. 

“Bye, Sloan,” she says, and then, “See you soon.” 

Sloan hugs her, and Allie kneels down. He just watches them. Tries not to think too hard about the way Allie closes her eyes a few seconds as she holds his daughter. 

Then she says to Harry, “See you soon, too,” and hitches her bag up over her shoulder. 

He texts her before she’s even pulled out of the driveway. Tells her she’s making him crazy. She sends the kiss emoji. 

Two nights later, she’s in his living room with him in the city when Kelly FaceTimes with Sloan, and it’s just not a big deal at all that he sits down, puts his arm around Allie and they listen to Sloan talk about what she and Kelly did today. 

“You’re happy,” Allie says, little smile on her lips, as he sets his phone on the coffee table and leans back on the sofa again. “It looks good on you.”

Instead of making the obvious joke that everything looks good on him, he just leans over and kisses her quickly, and she puts on the next episode of this show they’ve been watching recently.


End file.
